


The Mockingbird and the Oriole

by bluetoast



Series: Birds of a Feather [52]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bullying, Castiel gets a new start, Child Abuse, Deaf Character, Deaf Dean, Dean is an awesome parent, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Mary Winchester is a BAMF, Other, Prejudice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 12:01:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 41,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1647935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluetoast/pseuds/bluetoast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel fully expected to die when he went into that warehouse in Van Nuys. He was ready to die. What he didn't expect was to land in the home of a Dean Winchester who had no idea who he was, who had never been to Hell, who wasn't a Winchester - and had never heard a single sound in his entire life. All that considered, the fact that this Dean had a seven year old daughter was hardly surprising at all. Oddly enough, the kid might be the LEAST of the surprises waiting for him in this other reality he now found himself in.</p><p>
  <b>Written for the 2012 Dean Castiel Big Bang</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Art Link: http://usarechan.livejournal.com/5910.html

On January twenty-fourth, nineteen seventy nine, Dean Winchester was born in Lawrence, Kansas. Perfectly healthy – save for one thing; like his paternal great-grandmother, he was deaf. Almost ten years later, his father, John, abandoned him in a hospital in Fort Douglas, Minnesota. Three months later, he was adopted by Michael and Elisa Coulter of Fredrick, Maryland. Three years later, John Winchester succeeded in killing Azazel – he and his son Sam, settled in Windom, Minnesota with Kate Milligan and her and John's son, Adam. His one attempt at looking for Dean ended with failure.

The armies of Heaven, rather than expressing disappointment over having to delay the Apocalypse, set out to rid their Father's world of many evils. After the war was over, the death toll for both Heaven and Hell was staggering. The Archangel Michael appointed three of his brothers to watch over the three sons of John Winchester – only one of them took to the task without complaint. 

For the Archangel Gabriel knew that something would happen that would eventually change everything. All he had to do – was wait.

***

Having never been unconscious before, drifting back to reality was almost frightening for Castiel. As he came awake, but not fully so, he tried to recall what exactly had happened. He remembered the warehouse, a brilliant flash – the searing pain in his chest and then – blackness. The fact that he was alive surprised him more than anything. He'd been certain that by carving that Enochian symbol into his chest and dispelling all the angels it would kill him. But he wasn't dead. At least, he was pretty sure he wasn't dead. If he _was_ dead, he was almost certain that his chest wouldn't still sting.

The angel let out a breath and took stock of his surroundings before he opened his eyes. He was lying down in a very soft bed; the sheets smelled strangely of rain and somewhere nearby, he could smell lilacs. There was a distant drone of a lawnmower and bird song. This wasn't the Singer house. The bed was too comfortable and things smelled far too clean. A clock somewhere in the house tolled the hour – one – two – three. A door opened somewhere in what he guessed was in the hallway and he frowned. This place was very unfamiliar. He moved his hand underneath the blanket and found his chest had been bound tightly with bandages. Whoever had found him had evidently brought him in here to care for him. Castiel was silently thankful he wasn't in a hospital – but at the same time, the pressing need to get back to Dean and Sam was strong. Who knew what had happened to them after he left. Letting out another breath, the angel opened his eyes.

The room he was in wasn't very big, but it was bright. The walls were a pale yellow, the color of butter, and when he turned his head, he could see the delicate lace curtains that covered the two windows to his right. He frowned, sensing someone watching him. He turned his head the other way and caught a flash of dark brown hair followed by the sound of hurried footsteps – too small to belong to an adult. The room and the bed, for all its comfort, felt strangely wrong – as if it didn't belong. Or perhaps it was he who didn't belong. 

All he knew was that he had to get a hold of the Winchesters. He didn't think he could sit up just yet, much less talk on a phone, but as soon as he met his benefactor, perhaps they could contact the brothers for him. He looked across the room and caught sight of his clothes, looking to be freshly laundered, sitting folded on a chair. Someone was apparently taking very good care of him. He ran a hand through his hair as he heard footsteps coming toward the room again. Heavier, so it wasn't the child – most likely this was the child's parent. He could tell that whoever it was, it wasn't a demon. When he heard the footsteps stop, he turned towards the doorway; Castiel could not have been more stunned.

It was Dean. 

“Dean?” He coughed as the man came into the room. Something was clearly wrong with him. He came over to the bed with no look of recognition on his face. No relief, nothing. More shocking was when Dean pressed the back of his hand against the angel's forehead, checking for a fever.

“Dean!” he said again and still there was no reaction. He grabbed the man's wrist and looked Dean straight in the face. “What is the matter?”

It was in that instant he saw it. He saw that this wasn't the Dean he went to Van Nuys with. This wasn't the man he pulled from Hell. This was an entirely different Dean.

“How are you feeling?” Apparently in addition to being an entirely different Dean, he was not at all affected by the angel's reaction. 

Cas let go of Dean's wrist, still in shock. “I – I am not certain.” Dean's voice sounded wrong.

“Are you hungry? Would food help?” 

“I do not know.” The angel realized his voice was probably full of confusion – yet Dean seemed not to notice. 

“You're not feverish any more. You had me worried there for a while.” Castiel noticed that he was speaking with his hands and his voice. This Dean – was deaf. 

“Where am I?” The angel decided to stick with simple things for the time being. 

“Texas – just outside of Austin.” Dean smiled. “You've been asleep for three days.”

“Texas.” Cas rubbed his eyes. “How on earth...” He frowned. “You didn't take me to a hospital?”

“I knew I couldn't take you there.” He shook his head. “You fell from the sky.” He pulled a face. “You landed in a forsythia bush. It's a good thing you landed on the right side of the house and not the left.”

“Why is that?”

“There's nothing but rose bushes on the left side.” He shrugged. “You fortunately did not break any bones. Some minor scratches and that vicious wound on your chest and hand. I brought you inside and cleaned you up.” He smiled. “Do you want something to eat?”

“I – I suppose I should eat.” He still didn't know why he wasn't at a hospital. “Though I do not know what I want.”

“Broth for now.” Dean stood. “I don't want you getting sick.”

“Thank you.” He frowned. “I am sorry to inconvenience you and your family like this.”

“It's okay.” He turned and walked from the room. 

Castiel rubbed his eyes again, more confused than he had been before he opened his eyes. He was in a world with a deaf Dean who didn't know him. Angel or no, not even archangels had knowledge of all the realities. He could feel what was left of his Grace, a small scrap of a thing curled around his heart. Nowhere near enough to get back – if he could even figure out where his home was from here. He felt someone was watching him again and he opened his eyes and turned to see the child standing half hidden by the door frame. “Hello.”

“Hi.” The girl's voice was so soft he'd barely heard it. 

“Liesel!” Dean's voice called and then he appeared in the doorway. “Go downstairs for a little while, okay?”

The girl looked up at Dean for a moment and then turned and vanished. 

“Sorry.” He came into the room, set a tray on the table next to the bed before helping Castiel sit up in the bed. “I told her to not spy on you.” He put the tray on the bed. “But she doesn't always listen.”

Castiel picked up the spoon and promptly dropped it. “I...” 

“Here.” Dean went and got the chair from the far side of the room, setting the angel's clothes on top of the dresser and came back to the bed. “I think your body is still waking up.” He watched the angel pick up the spoon again and drop it. “Let me help you.” He picked up the bowl and spoon and after a moment, set the spoon full of broth against the angel's lips.

Castiel took a tentative sip before letting Dean tip the rest of the contents into his mouth. “I think something may be wrong with my other hand.” He tried not to think about how odd it was to have someone feed him. It tasted about as good as it smelled – which was delicious. “Thank you.”

Dean scooped more broth into the spoon, holding the bowl close to Castiel's chin so it wouldn't drip. “You're quite welcome.” 

It was slow going eating the broth. He wasn't even sure why he'd accepted the offer of food, other than he knew he had to try and appear as normal as possible. Then again, the fact that this Dean had seen him fall from the sky – he ate another spoonful and realized that while he knew who this man was – sort of – Castiel knew he couldn't just say that he did. “What day is it?”

“It's April eighth.” He glanced at the alarm clock Castiel hadn't noticed before. “It's three fifteen in the afternoon.”

“This may sound like a very odd question, but it is two-thousand ten, yes?”

Dean frowned. “No. It's two-thousand twelve.” 

“I am... sorry to be so confused...” He sat back, a silent gesture that made Dean set the bowl and spoon down on the tray.

“You seem to make a habit of apologizing for things you can't control. I assure you, this isn't a problem.” He leaned back slightly in his chair, relaxing a little. “My name is Dean Coulter. And you are?”

To his credit, Castiel didn't react to the fact Dean had the wrong last name. “Castiel... Novak.” 

“Well, Mr. Novak, you look to have had quite a rough time. I don't know where you came from, but as you fell from the sky, either you have got to be the luckiest skydiver of all time, or you aren't from around here.” 

“I – I'm not entirely sure how I ended up here.” This was the truth.

“Well, I'm sure it will come back to you. I hate to be the bearer of more bad news, but I think your cell phone is a lost cause.” 

“It is not of import... I do not think anyone would be there to answer my call if it did work.” He flexed his right hand and then managed to pick up the spoon, but he had lost interest in eating for now. “You were correct. I do feel somewhat better.” He grimaced as his chest twinged in pain. “However, I don't think I will be able to do much movement today.”

He smiled in response. “That's fine. There's no need to rush yourself.” He paused. “I'm also thankful that you know to look directly at me so that I can read your lips.”

Castiel realized he'd been doing it purely out of instinct rather than intentionally. “You're welcome. I'm sorry that you...”

“Don't tell me you're sorry for the fact that I'm deaf.” He grinned. “I've never known otherwise, so it's not a problem.” He stood and lifted the tray. “Do you need anything else?”

“No.” Just the thought of being vertical actually made the angel feel dizzy. “I'm sure you have more important things to do than sit here and talk with me.”

“Would you like a book to read?” He shrugged slightly. “There's no television up here. Most of it is horrible anyway.” 

“No, but thank you. I believe I may be in need of some more rest.”

Dean nodded. “That's understandable.” He adjusted his hold on the tray. “If you need anything, you just need to shout.” He smiled faintly. “I may be deaf, but Liesel isn't.” He turned and headed for the door, pausing just on the other side of the threshold. “My brother is also here, but he's going to leave to head back to school in a few hours.” 

“Your brother?”

“His name's Adam. He's no bother.” Dean turned and left.

Castiel watched him go, still trying to comprehend all this. This Dean clearly didn't fight monsters, had a different last name, and was deaf. And he was on speaking terms with Adam Milligan, who, from the sound of it, hadn't been killed by ghouls and brought back to life as part of an archangel's nefarious plan. Then there was the fact he was two years in the future. He'd think he was dreaming if the wound on his chest didn't hurt. Then there was the little matter of his left hand. He frowned as he turned it over and examined his palm. A small line of stitches went across the ball of his thumb. So that meant this Dean had also pretty much nursed his wounds – had more than likely carried him upstairs – and who knew what else. How had Dean managed to carry him up the stairs? The sound of a doorbell snapped him from his thoughts and after a muffled conversation he heard light footsteps on the stairs.

“Hi.” a voice said from the doorway. “Mr. Novak?”

It was the little girl again. “Hello.” She came into the room and over to the bed – holding a notebook and pen out towards him.

“My dad asked me to give this to you.” 

He took the book, trying to smile. “Thank you... Miss...”

“Liesel. My name's Liesel.” She rocked back on her heels, clearly delighted to finally be allowed to talk to him. 

“Liesel.” He turned the notebook over in his hands, frowning. “Did he have a reason for giving these to me?”

“He said to tell you that it's in case you need to write things down to help you get things sorted out. He always figures things out a little easier if he writes them down.” She rubbed her nose. “Are you an angel?”

To his credit, Castiel didn't blanch or automatically respond in the affirmative. “Why would you think that?”

“Cause you fell out of the sky. I saw you fall.” She bit at her bottom lip. “I....”

“How old are you, Liesel?” If he was going to go purely by size, he would have thought her six.

“I'm almost eight. My birthday is June eighteenth.”

“I see. Well, I'm sorry – I'm not an angel.” 

“That's okay.” She gave him a look that Castiel took to mean she didn't entirely believe him – but then again, she was just a child. “I was just wondering.”

“Thank you for the notebook.” Castiel hadn't been around children enough to know when you were supposed to tell them to go away.

“You're welcome.” She gave him a small smile and headed for the door. 

“Liesel?” Castiel called after her. “May I ask you something?”

She turned. “What? I mean.. yes?”

“Does your mother object to me being up here?” Right away, he knew he'd asked something he shouldn't have.

“I don't know.”

“Do you think I could ask her?” Castiel could hear Bobby Singer's voice in his mind calling him an idjit.

“Uh... Mr. Novak... my mom doesn't live here.” She looked at her feet and took a deep breath. “She's in Heaven.” She turned and he watched her leave and a moment later, a door shut in what he guessed was just a short way down the hall.

The angel felt his shoulders slump and set the notebook down on the bedside table, still trying to take all of this in. Dean and Adam were on speaking terms – pretty close ones, from what he could tell. Sam was somewhere else. Dean was also apparently a widower, had a nearly eight year old kid and for some reason, Castiel had a feeling that he was just looking at the tip of the proverbial iceberg. He lifted his head when his angelic brain seemed to catch up with this year's calendar. It was Easter Sunday.

*  
Dean Coulter knew what Castiel was – or at least, had his suspicions. He had given the man holy-water laced broth not really expecting much to happen – but it had given him a little comfort. The silver spoon only helped with the knowledge that his visitor wasn't here to harm them. As far as he could tell. He may not have hunted anything in twenty years, but he still knew how to take precautions. 

It'd been raining lightly on Thursday night and he and Liesel had been eating dinner. There had been a flash of lightning and then he assumed there had been a crash, or some sort of sound that his daughter couldn't describe exactly for him – only that she had pointed to the window and started rapidly signing and speaking. Someone had fallen. 

When he went outside, Dean had been expecting to find someone in an unspeakable condition. Castiel had crushed a forsythia bush with his weight and had been lying, spread eagle on top of it. His shirt was hanging open; that ugly wound on his chest was at the stage where things were starting to scab over – although parts of it looked cauterized. There had been a pretty nasty cut on the man's left hand as well. Knowing better than to try and get the man to a hospital – Dean didn't feel like answering questions when he had no answers to give – he'd taken Castiel inside and patched him up alone. He'd already arranged to have the day off at work since Liesel had no school on Friday. 

Where Castiel belonged and how he would get back there – Dean hadn't gotten that far yet. He wanted to help, he knew that. The little matter that his house guest thought it was two-thousand ten was a pretty good indication that something was very off. Well, perhaps he could talk with the man when he was feeling a little stronger and they could get things sorted out. The man tended to sleep a lot, more than anything. 

Shaking his head, Dean walked out of his room and down the stairs, heading for the kitchen. He was pretty sure that Castiel could move onto a little heartier food soon. He came into the room and grinned. “Hungry again already?” 

Adam looked up from the counter. “I want to make sure I don't forget the leftovers you always seem to insist I take.”

Dean shook his head. “More like making sure you get a healthy leftover portion of my grandma's famous bread pudding.”

“Hey!” the younger man said indignantly. “You're the one who makes enough for ten people!”

“I have to; you eat enough for three.” He came over and gave his brother a one armed hug. “It's okay. Sam's the one who eats enough for five.”

Adam rolled his eyes in response. “No kidding. I still don't know how my mom could keep food for long when the two of us were at home and in our teens.”

Dean shook his head and sat down on one of the bar-stools next to the island. “If it's true about all the junk food you had, it's a wonder Sam's so damn tall.”

“I think that California living made him learn to hate sugar. You so much as waggle a chocolate bar under his nose and he freaks out.” Adam turned to put a casserole dish back in the fridge and then shut the door. “Lis isn't going to let me take all the cookies we made, is she?”

He snorted in response. “She knows how many are left, so the answer is no. Though if you want to take half, I don't think it'd be a problem. And as for Sam and chocolate, if you make it a Butterfinger, he won't cringe; he'll break your wrist to get it if you're not careful.”

“Yeah yeah....” He went over to the pantry to grab a bag and then came back to pile the containers of food inside. “Dean...” He took a deep breath. “Dad really wants to talk to you.”

“No.” Dean's jaw tightened. He wanted nothing to do with John Winchester. Ever. “He knows why I don't want to talk to him.”

“Are you really going to hold onto what he did?” Adam let out a breath. “I mean, you know...”

“It's not about being abandoned, Adam.” He rubbed his face for a moment. “It's not about that and it's never been about that. It's something you can't...”

“I understand it perfectly!” Dean could tell he yelled by the expression on his face. “Look, he doesn't want to be your friend, he doesn't want to have some kind of relationship, he just wants to try and make amends!”

“Amends for what, Adam? For making me his personal punching bag for five years?” Dean stopped speaking and went straight to signing. _“This isn't the sort of thing you can make right. I've tried very hard to let it go and move on. You don't know the half of what he did to me.”_

Adam took a deep breath, trying to calm down. He tied a knot with the plastic bag's handles and then looked straight at his brother. “You're right, I don't and I don't know how to make things right. I'm just sick of being the messenger, that's all.”

 _“I'm sorry, Adam. There's some things that are just – too hard to completely forget.”_ He came over and gave his brother a one armed hug. 

“I know.” He returned the hug and stepped back. “I better get going so I can beat traffic.”

Dean nodded and walked him to the front door. _“You be careful down there.”_

“I will.” He stepped out onto the porch and turned. “See you in a few weeks?”

 _“Sure.”_ He watched his brother go down the walk and get into his car. Adam waved once and then drove away. Dean quietly shut the front door and locked it.

*  
Adam wasn't halfway to the Louisiana border when he pulled off at a rest stop and took out his cellphone and hit the second number on his speed dial. It rang twice before it was answered.

“Hey Adam.”

“Hi Dad. Happy Easter. How are you and Mom?” He leaned back in his seat, rubbing his eyes. 

“We're good.” There was that odd hitch in his voice – the one that Adam knew far too well. “Your mom's already left for work, so don't forget to call her.” John sighed. “How's Dean?”

“He's... he's good.” Adam swallowed. “I think Lis has grown a few inches since I saw her back on Dean's birthday.” He covered his eyes with his hand. “I told him you just want to talk – but he didn't take it very well.”

John let out a hacking cough. “I'm not surprised. That's why I need this to be a mutual thing, Adam. It's taken me this long to work up the courage to try and start over and it's bad enough I've got to have you and Sam play messenger.”

“I still don't get what happened in Fort Douglas.” He took a drink from the bottle of water and stuck it in a cup holder. “I mean... that had never happened before, had it?”

“I was half drunk and extremely angry. I should have known better than to be hunting in the state I was in, but well...” John let out another sigh. “I just remember coming to with Sam asleep in the chair and Dean a bloody mess on the floor. I knew that if I didn't get your brother away from me and other hunters, I was pretty much digging his grave more than I already was.”

Adam let out a breath. “He doesn't hate you for leaving him, I've told you that.” 

“I know.” John made a gulping sound, like he was drinking something. “Still doesn't change the fact that I had no right beating on him. Ever.” 

“Dean knows that you ditching him was the best possible thing. He's told me and Sam as much. As for wailing on him – well, I think the damage goes a lot deeper than I can imagine.” Adam took another sip of water. “Not to mention the fact that if she ever met you, Elisa Coulter would kick your ass.”

“You think she could take me?” John said, half jesting. 

“Well, yes. One, on the basis of the fact you'd never hit her, and two, she wouldn't have to hit you – she's got a glare that could cleave granite in half.” He coughed. “Now, Michael Coulter on the other hand – he'd probably pull your head off _for_ her.”

“I've seen his picture, Adam. I believe that. Hell, that guy could probably rip a wendigo in half without breaking a sweat.”

“I'll take your word for it.” He paused. “Dad? Can I ask you something?”

“What is it?” John suddenly sounded tired. 

“Why do you want to talk to Dean so badly? I mean, I know he's your son and...”

John cut him off. “It's something you can't understand, Adam. You're not a parent.” He took a breath. “I just... I don't want something to happen to either of us without at least – I know I can't hope to make amends, but I do know he and I can't carry on like this. It's not fair to you or Sam.”

“So you want to make peace with Dean because you think it's not fair to me and Sam.” Adam snorted. “I told Dean you just wanted to talk and he freaked. What the hell did you do to him that would make him that pissed?”

“It was just too much. It seemed the older he got, the angrier I got. It wasn't his fault, none of it was – I rationalized leaving him might have been the worst thing I'd done, but it was also the best.” He took a breath. “Dean was such a quiet kid and hell, I could barely communicate with him. His mom was the one who talked to him – and the things I've seen? I'm actually frightened of Dean's mother.”

“I don't think she's ghost-possessed someone and is walking around with a Louisville Slugger looking for the Impala, Dad.” Adam knew he shouldn't be so crass, but he'd almost pay money to see _that._

“That's not funny young man.” John had that edgy tone in his voice that told Adam it was best to just shut up. “I should let you go so you can get on back to school.” John let out a breath. “Call your mom when you get back to New Orleans so she knows you're okay.”

“Yeah.” He took another swig of water. “I will.”

*

Castiel had gotten oriented enough to get from the bed to the doorway and then from the door to the stairs. After spending most of the day in and out of sleep, hunger – actual hunger – had driven him to get up. He held onto the banister as he descended, pausing to look around what he could see of the first floor from the landing where the stairs turned. The foyer had a tile floor that gave way to hardwood in what he guessed was the family room, judging from the comfortable looking furniture and television. Along one wall was a glass fronted hutch that had several trophies, a few gleaming medals and two diploma envelopes – one from the American School for the Deaf and the the other from Stanford University. “This is all very... strange.” He stepped around the hutch, heading for what he guessed had to be the kitchen. He wasn't sure what he'd find there – or even how to cook, for that matter. Well, certainly he could find a loaf of bread – he hoped. He paused in the doorway. “Good... evening?”

Dean looked up from where he was standing, seeing Castiel out of the corner of his eye. “ Evening. Feeling better?”

“I think so. This place... is very different from where I live.” He looked around the room, still waiting for Sam to appear in another doorway. “Is your brother still here?”

Dean shook his head. “No, he left a little while ago.”

“I see.” He glanced over at the kitchen table, which had two tall containers full of sweets resting on it. “What is that?”

“The Easter Bunny left those for Liesel.” He shook his head. “Multiple bunnies.” He turned back to Castiel. “Would you like something to eat? Adam did take a lot of leftovers, but there's some left.”

“That would be – most welcome.” He set a hand against the door-frame, frowning. “I... think.”

“Think we better have you sit back down.” Dean came over, put Castiel's free arm over his shoulders and half carried, half led him over to one of the kitchen chairs. “Don't go straining yourself.”

The angel shook his head. “This is all - confusing.”

Dean shook his head. “You keep saying that. Why don't you tell me what's confusing you, it will most likely help.”

Castiel tilted his head. “I do not think you could possibly grasp the mechanics of dimensional travel, Dean.”

“I watch _Dr. Who_ so I might understand the theory.”

“Who is _Dr. Who?”_

Dean arched an eyebrow and responded back to him without speaking. _“Forget about the Doctor for now. How about you stop pretending you don't know American Sign Language for starters?”_

The angel swallowed and looked down at his hands – he hadn't even realized that as a result of Dean's signing and speaking, he'd started to do it too out of instinct. _“I traveled in a method without thinking of where I'd end up landing.”_ It was a little hard to sign with one of his hands bandaged. He was just glad his right hand seemed to be functioning fully again.

 _“Either you're incredibly brave or incredibly stupid. Possibly both.”_ He stood up. “I'll get you something to eat. Is there anything you don't like?”

Castiel shook his head and rubbed his eyes. “Just as long as it's... hot.”

“I can manage that.” He went over and opened the fridge. “Shells and cheese it is.” 

There was no conversation while Dean was cooking. The angel took advantage of the quiet to look around the almost spotless kitchen, still not used to putting something as clean as this place with the hunter he knew. Although something told him that Dean hadn't hunted in a very long time – if he ever had. 

“Here we are.” When the bowl was set in front of him, Castiel noted that there was a thick gold band around Dean's left ring finger.

“Thank you.” He picked up the fork, glad that it stayed put. He wasn't exactly ready to have Dean feed him again.

“You're welcome.” A moment later, Dean sat down at the table as well with a notebook and started scribbling notes on it. “I'm sorry, did you want something to drink?”

“No, no this is fine.” Castiel ate slowly, rather glad he had learned the signals for when he was hungry, tired and other human functions with some ease. True, he shouldn't be feeling them at all – shouldn't be aware of emotions either – but it was sort of one less thing to worry about. He watched the man write for a while, still trying to grasp all the differences between this Dean and well – the other Dean. He tapped the man's wrist to get his attention. “What are you doing, exactly?” 

“Leaving instructions for the baby-sitter tomorrow.” He smiled pleasantly. “I have a long day at work ahead of me, so I won't be home until late. Liesel doesn't have school until Tuesday.”

“Is your baby-sitter going to say something about me being here?” 

“Given the number of times I've been over to his place and found wounded wild animals recovering there?” Dean set the pen down. “I highly doubt it. I'll explain about you when he gets here. It'll just be easier.” He scribbled something down. “Don't worry, he's a nice guy.” He frowned. “You act like you've never had pasta before, the way you're eating it.”

“It's – very complicated.” He poked at the pasta in his bowl. 

“You keep saying that. Why don't you just try explaining it – perhaps it will help.” He wrote down something else.

“The place I came from is so far removed from this place it is beyond...”

“Then explain to me like I'm five.” He threw the pen onto the table for emphasis. “I might surprise you.”

“I came here in trying to help avert the Apocalypse. I was expecting to kill myself – so landing here, wherever this place is, was just as much of a shock to me as it was you.” He pushed the bowl away, his hunger gone.

Dean pushed the notebook and pen away and folded his hands, looking him over. “You're right. That is complicated.” He paused. “So are you more shocked that you're here or that you're not dead?”

“If that is an attempt at humor...” The angel stopped speaking as he saw the slight smile on the man's face. “Perhaps you are right.” He felt his shoulders slump and he sat back. “I still do not understand why you kept me here. Wouldn't the standard procedure be to take me to a hospital?”

“I was going to.” He paused. “Then I saw something that made me change my mind.”

“What was that?” 

In response, Dean rose, took the bowl and set it on the counter. “I'll show you.” He went through a door that led the angel guessed led to a laundry room and came back carrying a folded towel which he set on the table. “This is what I found.” 

Castiel swallowed and opened the towel. There, in sharp contrast to the pale gray cotton, was a mass of long dark brown feathers with black tips. His feathers. At least two dozen of them, along with shorter, softer down from what he knew had to be the tender underside of his wings. Now he knew why the little girl had asked if he was an angel. She'd seen the feathers too. “I...”

“Either these are yours, or there are ostriches nesting under my kitchen window and they have the ability to become invisible.” Dean sat down, his face unreadable.

He swallowed again and reached out, running a finger along one of the longest feathers, the length of a child's arm. “Were... were they out?”

“The wings these came from?” Dean's voice was oddly calm. “Only for a moment. I can't be certain, but they looked to be broken.”

“Are there any still out there?” He found it hard to remember to look at Dean when he spoke. 

“No. I had Liesel look all over under the window and around the bushes. These are all the ones we found.” He frowned. “I don't know how you're going to get home, but you're welcome to stay here and rest for a while until you feel up to going back.”

“If I can get back.” Castiel felt defeated. “I... there is so much of this place that doesn't make sense.”

“Then how about we start with you feeling better physically first – then try and work on the rest.”

In response, the angel glowered at him. “What, are you a doctor or something?”

“Yes. I'm an anesthesiologist, but that's not important right...” He stopped, seeing something in the angel's face. “What, does that surprise you?”

“I think I need to go back to bed.” He stood, taking the largest feather from the towel in his hand.

“You want some help getting back upstairs?” Dean stood as well.

“No, just... put those in a safe place, please.” He waved at the towel and slowly walked out of the room. 

**  
Liesel almost ran down the stairs when the doorbell rang the next morning. She glanced through the glass in the door to check who it was before she unlocked and opened it. “Hi, Mister Jay!” 

The man beamed at her and stepped inside. “Hey, kiddo.” He gave her a small hug. “Your dad in the kitchen?” He set down his messenger bag next to the door and took off his shoes. 

“Yup.” She led the way. “How was your Easter?”

“Quiet and uneventful – just the way I like all my Sundays.” He followed her through the family room.

“Unless the Ravens are playing, right?” She looked over her shoulder as they came into the kitchen.

“That's a different matter altogether.” He came into the kitchen as Dean looked up from the list he was working on. “Hey.”

“Hello.” He stood up. “I don't think my guest upstairs will be too much trouble. He sleeps most of the time.”

Jay nodded. “You told me over the phone. Are you sure you don't want to take him to a hospital?” He went and poured himself a cup of coffee.

“Yes. I am sure.” Dean gave his daughter a hug. “It's going to be a long day today. I don't know when I will be home.” 

“Today's the day they're separating those conjoined twins, isn't it?” He set his mug down on the island.

“Yes.” He picked up his keys from the counter. “We have plenty of leftovers.”

“Bye Daddy.” Liesel hugged her dad again. “And I know, I've got school tomorrow, so bedtime is eight thirty.”

Dean chuckled. “Good girl.” He turned back to Jay. “Don't keep her outside too long if you go out.”

“Dean, I've been watching Lis for the past two and a half years. I know the routine.” Jay gave the man a small smirk. “I know where the emergency numbers are and all that.”

“I'll send a text when the surgery is over, so you have an idea of when I'll get back.” Dean ruffled his daughter's hair, picked up his small duffel bag and headed out the door in the laundry room. A moment later, a car started up and he was gone.

Jay took a drink from his mug. “Well, kiddo. What are we going to do today?” 

“I was gonna do a big puzzle.” She rocked back on her heels. “You going to work on that book of yours again?”

“Thinking about it.” He sat down. “You going to work on the dining room table?”

“Yeah.” She rubbed her nose. “You gonna work in here?”

“What can I say, I like the distance between myself and the coffee pot to be short.” He went to retrieve his bag. 

Liesel went into the family room, opened up the game cabinet and pulled out a five-hundred piece puzzle with a picture of Big Ben on it. She took her puzzle across the hall and went into the dining room, settled down in her usual seat, opened the box and set about finding all the edges. She heard Mr. Jay's laptop start up and a moment later, he started typing away. “Mister Jay?”

“What is it Lis?”

“What does conjoined mean?” She tossed a few side pieces onto the table.

“Well, you know what joined means?” There was a shuffling sound of papers.

“Yeah. It means together.” She paused. “Are those two babies stuck together?”

“'Fraid so, Lis. But don't worry, they're going to be fine.” There was a hitch in his voice.

“How come they're stuck together?” She called. “Dad wouldn't tell me.”

“That's just how they were formed. It happens sometimes.” 

“You mean like when the neighbor's cat had kittens and all of 'em only had one eye each?” She grimaced. “That was really gross.”

“Something like that.” More rustling. “But all you need to know is that those twins are going to be fine. Might be sore for a little while, but that's to be expected.”

“Uh huh.” She turned her attention back to her puzzle, fairly certain she'd gotten most of the edges. She had set to work putting them together when she heard a soft huffing sound and she looked up. “Hi.” Liesel said quietly. She knew Mister Jay was writing and while he was a really nice guy, she didn't want to disturb him.

“Hello.” Castiel tilted his head to the side, frowning. “Where is your father?”

“At work. Mister Jay's here.” she whispered. “He's writing at the moment. I'm doing a puzzle. Are you hungry?”

“No.” He came into the room and sat down across from her. “Why are you doing a puzzle?”

“Because I wanted to – I don't know if I'll do it all day though.” She put the corners in place. “You wanna help?”

“I – I haven't done a puzzle before.” He took a handful of pieces from the box and started to separate them. “This doesn't seem to be difficult.” 

“I don't know about that.” She started on a side, biting her bottom lip in concentration. “How are you feeling today?”

“Better.” He sounded like he meant it – and then paused as his stomach rumbled.

“Are you sure you're not hungry?” Liesel frowned. “Cause you sound hungry.”

“I don't think he knows what hunger is.” Jay called from the doorway,

Castiel froze. He knew that voice. He slowly turned in his chair and looked behind him, knowing he had to look completely shocked. Standing there, looking completely unperturbed and calm was the Archangel Gabriel.

“Mr. Novak, this is Mister Jay. How can someone not know when they're hungry?” 

“Jay?” Castiel frowned. 

“Jay Gatz.” He came over to the table. “And you are?”

“Castiel Novak.” This world had gone from unfamiliar and straight into bizarre.

“It's nice to meet you.” Jay/Gabriel turned his attention to Liesel. “Why don't you go line up all the cereal boxes on the counter so our friend can choose one.”

“Okay.” She got up from the table and headed into the kitchen.

Castiel watched her go and then turned back to Gabriel. “What is...” The archangel pressed a finger against his lips to silence him.

“I'll fill you in on a lot of details after lunch. I don't know what sort of nightmare you fell out of, but you're safe here. That's all you need to know.” 

He stood up, frowning. “I do not see why I must wait...”

“Because after lunch, Lis will go up to her room for a few hours and do whatever it is little girls do with teddy bears and ponies and such and we won't have to worry about her overhearing us.” Castiel let Gabriel lead him into the kitchen. 

*  
Castiel had doubted that Gabriel had been telling the truth that the girl would do as he said, and go upstairs in the afternoon – but to his great surprise, shortly after lunch, she did just that. He had plenty of questions for the archangel – and at the same time, he'd been somewhat relieved when he'd seen him. Unlike the Gabriel in his world, this one was more serious and didn't seem to have a preoccupation with sweets. He didn't say anything as the archangel fixed two glasses of milk with honey swirled into them and then sat down at the island in the kitchen.

“Dean told me about your injuries – and no, he doesn't know I'm an angel.” Gabriel took a sip from his glass. “I don't know where you came from, but it must be pretty bad.”

“I believe bad could be considered an understatement.” Castiel took a small drink as well. “What I do not understand is what has happened here.” 

“Nothing's happened,” the archangel shrugged, “at least not in a way you might consider having happened. You should know that Dean's great-grandmother was deaf in both this reality and yours.”

“Yes, I am aware of that. But I did not know it was genetic trait.” He looked down into his glass, frowning. “Sweet milk... I have not had this for some time.”

“You look as if you need it.” Gabriel tugged at his bottom lip for a moment and then continued. “It'll help heal what little Grace you have left.” 

“Thank you.” He stared down into his glass. “Though I don't know how much it will help.”

“Well, as they say – every little bit helps.” He took a small drink. “I'm thinking that just as you're very different from the Castiel I knew, I'm different from the Gabriel you know.”

“That is true.” Castiel frowned. “Unless you are also masquerading as Loki.”

“Used to do that.” He smirked over the rip of his glass. “Now that's what I do for vacation. You, on the other hand, act nothing like the Chuck Norris Castiel I knew.”

“I do not know an angel by the name of Chuck Norris. Although I do know a prophet Chuck Shurley.”

Milk shot out of Gabriel's nose as he tried and failed to contain his laughter. “Chuck Norris isn't an angel. I am stating that you seem to have lost or never had an unlimited amount of badassery.”

“I chose to try and save humanity instead of seeing it reduced to cinders.” Cas wasn't sure if he'd just been insulted or not. “As a result, I was cut off from Heaven.”

“I don't know who your superior is, but I do know they're an asshole.” He snapped his fingers and cleaned up the milk spattered counter. “Let me guess – Lucifer got out of his box too.”

“Yes.” Castiel wrapped his fingers around his glass, letting out a breath. “I tried to stop that too.”

“Sounds like you've been down a pretty bad road, little brother.” The archangel sighed. “I can take a pretty good guess at what all went on where you came from.”

“I – I suppose I should try and find my way back there.” He shook his head. “The Winchesters who live there have most likely given me up for dead. Though I do not know if they care.”

“Why would you say that?” The archangel frowned. “Why don't you start from the beginning – with the death of Mary Winchester and everything that followed that up and go until the point you did a swan dive into Dean's forsythia bushes four days ago.”

The angel stared at Gabriel for a moment, took a shaky sip of milk, set the glass down and began to tell him everything.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been a very long week. Dean tossed the last of his scrubs into the washing machine and shut the lid. Nothing particularly bad had happened at the hospital as far as where he was concerned, only that one of the new residents, a perfect asshole who went to Yale, had made several snide remarks about deaf people not belonging in the OR, but other than that, it'd been good. The two little girls who had had surgery on Monday were doing exceptionally well, and a good portion of the people who had come in for minor surgery where he was present were either already home or would be there by Monday. Things here at home weren't all that bad either. Mr. Novak, Castiel – was doing fairly well in recovering from his fall – but still no closer to telling him what was going on. If Liesel knew anything, she wasn't speaking up. He set the basket on the floor and came out of the laundry room and into the kitchen. 

“How is the salad coming?” he asked as he came over to the island to check on his daughter's work.

Liesel looked up from the head of lettuce she was tearing apart. “Almost done.” She tossed some of the vegetable into the large bowl on the counter. “Dad? How long is Mr. Cas going to stay?”

Dean nearly dropped the package of pasta he was holding. “He's not bothering you, is he?”

“No, Dad. I was just wondering.” She dumped the rest of the lettuce into the bowl and then pulled a green pepper towards her. “Do you think... you think he's...”

“Lis, we discussed this. He'll tell us about himself when he's ready.” He set the package down and then turned the heat up on the stove. “Don't pester him.”

She nodded and turned her attention to carefully cutting the pepper. 

Dean watched her for a moment and then tapped on the counter. He watched her lift her head and then gave her a half a smile. “I know you're not going to pester him. It's been a long week.”

She nodded in reply. “Yeah.” She set the knife down and started to sign. _“What if he really is what we think he is?”_

 _“Then we help him get home.”_ He tossed some salt into the pot of water. _“Or we help him get settled here.”_

 _“It's just... weird.”_ She sighed.

 _“Weird how?”_ This wasn't something the girl had brought up before. 

_“It's like... I don't know... it's like he thinks there's something wrong with us... or like we don't act the way he expects us to.”_ She rubbed her nose. _“I just don't know.”_

 _“We'll talk tonight. He is doing better. I'm not going to demand answers, but I do think we need to know a few things.”_ He saw something change in the girl's face and he turned. “Afternoon.”

Castiel slowly came into the room, frowning. “I am sorry, I did not to mean to interrupt.”

“It's fine.” Dean replied. “How are you doing?”

“I'm.... not sure.” He stepped over to the island, frowning. “What is...”

“Dinner.” Dean poured the sauce into an empty pan and turned the heat on. “We're cooking dinner.” 

“I see. Is there... anything I can do to help?” 

“I think we're good.” He stirred the sauce a little and then added the pasta to the now boiling water.

“Do you like pasta, Mr. Cas?” Liesel interjected.

“I think so.” He looked over at the bowl next to the girl. “I've never had salad.”

“Well, it just so happens that Lis is one of the best salad makers in the world.” Dean said, smiling.

“Daaad,” the girl replied, going slightly pink. 

*  
“This is not an easy thing for me to explain.” Castiel was very grateful that the girl had gone upstairs for the night before he and Dean talked. It wasn't like he disliked the girl, far from it – but the fact remained that she was a child, and somehow, he instinctively knew that Dean wouldn't want the girl hearing things she was far too young to hear. “I think I'm adjusting to how different things are here.” He wrapped his hands around his glass. “I can see how where I come from could have ended up similar to how it is here.”

Dean leaned against one hand, studying the man across the table from him, frowning. “I take it that the Dean you know isn't deaf.”

“No.” He frowned. “Although oddly enough, you talk more than he does. Or rather, you're more open than he is.”

“Must come from upbringing.” He took a drink from his own glass. “I also take it that I don't know my parents, the Coulters.”

Castiel shook his head. “As you are not deaf, you were never separated from John Winchester.”

“I wasn't exactly separated, more like ditched.” Dean had to set one hand on his wrist to keep himself from shaking. “I was angry when it happened, but as time has passed, it really has been the best thing.”

“I also find it odd that you are not constantly worrying about your brother Sam and if he is all right.” He shook his head. “At times, it greatly vexed me that the you in my world seemed to be worried solely for Sam and nothing else.”

Dean snorted. “I know that speech. After my mom was killed, one of the first things my dad learned to sign was _watch out for Sammy._ It was constantly about Sam. I know my brother isn't perfect; we've even talked about this... but as far as John Winchester was concerned, Sam was the only one that mattered.” He took a drink of water.

“That speech, as you call it, was hammered into the Dean I know for many more years than it was into you. I just found it rather... upsetting that if it involved Sam getting hurt, it wasn't a viable option.” He shook his head. “I also feel the need to state that the other Dean has a tendency to be... I believe the term is ungrateful.”

“Please don't tell me I treat you like shit.” He had let the glass go and was back to signing and speaking. 

“I would not go that far.” He returned the signing in kind. “The last thing I told him was that I didn't have the faith in him that Sam did. He was going to turn himself over to an archangel even after I rebelled against Heaven for him.”

“So you _are_ an angel.” He fell back slightly in his chair.

“A fallen one, but yes.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Or rather, a rebelling angel who has no idea why I am here and not dead. Though I am starting to think that I may be trapped here.”

Dean swallowed, trying to regain his composure. “Maybe you were sent here for a reason.”

It was the angel's turn to snort. “That's the other thing that's off about you. You actually have faith in a higher power. I have lost mine.”

“Faith and hope is all some people have to go on Castiel. If you have neither, what's the point of living? I can't tell you why you're here; I can't help fix the damage inside you. I can patch up your physical wounds, but in the end, that's all I can do for you.” Dean slid a hand through his hair before continuing. “I know this probably sounds horribly cheesy or like something out of a bad movie, but it's true.”

“I understand what you mean, Dean. I am... still adjusting.” He looked down at his still hands for a moment and then back up. “I don't know if staying here is a good thing or a bad thing yet. Right now, I am enjoying the quiet.”

“That's something that we seem to have a lot of around here.” He frowned. “Would you like something to drink? Tea? Water?”

“No, thank you.” He tilted his head to the side, frowning. “That's the other thing that's off about you. You are not... a drinker.”

“I sound seriously messed up.” Dean frowned. “Or perhaps it's just nature versus nurture playing itself out again.”

“That seems to be the case.” The angel smiled faintly. “My understanding of human psychology is woefully lacking, so I am unable to completely understand how things work out the way that they do.” He rubbed his forehead. “I was drunk once. I did not enjoy it afterwards.”

“I've only been hungover a few times myself... the last time was the morning after my wedding.” His face got wistful. “Ignacia – Annie - and I polished off several bottles of champagne. I had to write things down to communicate – and poor Annie was still learning sign language at the time.” There was almost a laugh in his voice. “She wasn't in much better shape.” His face fell. “She never got drunk again either.”

“I am sorry she is no longer here, Dean.” Castiel watched the man's face go through several emotions.

“So am I.” Tears appeared in the corners of Dean's eyes. “Liesel was born about ten months after the wedding, and for five years, everything was great. Then Annie got sick. It just... just..” He covered his face with his hand and fell silent. 

Castiel set a hand on Dean's arm and squeezed it very lightly. He could feel the grief radiating off of the man. He had known already that Ignacia Coulter had died almost two years ago from a very aggressive form of leukemia – Gabriel had told him. There was still so much pain – and in that instant, he finally saw the one thing that wasn't different about this Dean and the one he knew. They both carried so much pain – and had buried it under layers of pretending the pain wasn't there. 

Dean slowly lowered his hand, his face red. “I shouldn't...”

“It is all right.” He gave the man's arm another squeeze. “Again, I am sorry.”

“When Lis started walking, her mother told me that she never wanted our daughter doing gymnastics. Wanted our baby to get to be a little girl. Gymnastics was sort of thrown at her. She was a little pixie from Romania. They all do gymnastics.” He took a deep breath. “I did gymnastics because mom and dad knew I needed something to get my aggression out – and mom didn't want me playing football.”

“That is where the medals in the cabinet in the family room come from?” Castiel hadn't paid much attention to what the awards in the cabinet had been for, only taken note of them. 

“Yes.” Dean managed a half smile. “Sometimes those days seem so long ago and then there are days it seems it was only a week or so in the past.”

“I understand about time slipping through your fingers.” He gave the man a very wry smile. 

“I suspect you would.” He looked to be trying to think of a way to change the subject. “I'm going to want to check your injuries in the morning – see how they are healing.”

“That is acceptable.” Castiel shifted in his chair. “I am still trying to set my wings to rights.”

Dean nodded. “I'm sure you have a method for doing that. Do you need a wider space to do it in?”

“No, I think I am good in the room where you are letting me stay. And again, I must thank you for your kindness in letting me stay.” He frowned. “Is it true about Jay Gatz rescuing injured wild animals and nursing them back to health?”

“Yes.” He grinned faintly. “Thankfully, he has stopped helping bobcats – that turned out to not be a good idea.”

“I would imagine so.” Castiel smiled tiredly. “I believe I should retire. They do say that resting when you are injured is one of the best things to do, correct?”

“Sleep is always instrumental to the healing process.” Dean nodded. “The more of it you can get the better.”

***  
Some days, Sam asked himself if he would just be better off cutting off contact from both Dean and his dad, letting the two of them continue their long standing silence. He knew, of course, that both of them thought that John Winchester abandoning Dean was the best thing for both of them. For all of them, actually. But just because it was the best thing didn't mean it was completely okay. What he felt it boiled down to was the fact that Dad couldn't believe in the beginning that Dean could flourish so well in life – and then it went straight to jealousy that someone else had brought it out in him. Dean on the other hand, wasn't ready to forgive the pain John had caused. 

Adam, going to medical school at Tulane provided a link to Dean, and while Dean was probably fully aware of the fact that their baby brother was reporting back a lot of stuff to the rest of his family, Dean didn't seem to entirely care on some points. Sam was more of the ambassador to their father, which was hysterical in its own right because there were times when the two of them couldn't stand each other. Mom said it was because the two of them were too similar in personality and so it was natural they were going to butt heads. 

John, for whatever reason, wanted to try and heal, or at least treat the wounds that were between him and his eldest. Sam wasn't sure entirely why – perhaps he felt that he owed it to Mary, perhaps he was finally seeing the truth for what it was... or hell, it could even be the fact that the last time he visited Sam, his dad took one look at a picture of Liesel and started bawling.

After settling down at his kitchen table, Sam opened the folder that contained copies of the hospital record in Fort Douglas from when Dean was admitted there. He had the vague memory of that night. Dad shouting, being carried, someone crying. The next thing he could remember associated with that was waking up in a motel room and asking where Dean had gone. At just five years old, he hadn't understood that his brother had been left behind. As a child, he'd accepted the fact that Dean was very sick and Dad couldn't take care of him. 

The first sheet of paper was basics – _Dean Michael Winchester_ – date of birth, _January 24, 1979_ – place of birth, parents names, no address was listed. There wasn't much he didn't already know. The second sheet, was more revealing. The illness was diagnosed as pneumonia and there was information about antibiotics and other treatment. The third sheet was when things started to get ugly. Bruises and lacerations on the back and legs, a dislocated shoulder.

The rest of the folder contained photographs of some of the injuries. Lurid green and purple on pale, freckled skin – the one of a hand, all the bones clearly visible – even the damn ones that connected the fingers to the wrists turned Sam's stomach. Had their father fucking _starved_ Dean as well?

Sam ran to the sink, turned the water on and began to retch. His brother had been _nine._ How on Earth could his father have done this? 

He turned on the disposal as he straightened up, grabbed a glass from the rack on the counter, and swished his mouth out. Once he'd cleaned up the slight mess in the sink and returned to the table, he was a little more composed. Why hadn't Dean told anyone what was going on? Why hadn't anyone ever asked what was wrong with his brother? Sam was too young to remember. All he could remember, much to his shame now, was demanding all of the Lucky Charms cereal. 

It was stupid to be annoyed at himself for something he did when he was five – because well, hell – he was five – and yet, at the same time, that same voice of reason said Dean was _nine._ Sam swallowed and turned over a fourth sheet of paper – psychological evaluations, notes about how his brother's education was possibly stunted, but despite that, it was stated that he had a very broad vocabulary, even for a deaf nine year old. His cell phone ringing brought him back to reality. He picked it up off the table and glanced at the number before answering. “Hey Mom.” 

“Hi, honey,” the voice of Kate Winchester replied. “I didn't wake you up, did I?”

“I'm just one time zone over, and it's later here than it is there.” He chuckled. “I sleep more than Adam does.”

“Well, you know how I am.” There was a shuffling sound. “Your father's gone to Blue Earth to see Pastor Jim.”

“Mom, is something wrong?” Sam didn't like the way her voice sounded.

“I'm not sure. He was up reading that journal of his when I left for work last night – and when I came home, there was a note on the fridge and he'd been gone for several hours.”

“Maybe he finally had a religious awakening,” Sam said, half in jest. John Winchester was a devout atheist. He had to sound falsely cheery when every fiber of his being was screaming at him to go to Blue Earth and break his father's jaw.

“That's not funny, Samuel Eric.” He recognized the 'mom voice' instantly. “Do you know how many of his own words he'd have to eat if that happened? I thought he was going to kill your brother when he came home after the first semester of college and stated he'd found God.” 

“Well, in Dad's defense, Adam did get mixed up with some religious nutcases in the beginning. That changed after he met Kelly.” He sighed. Kelly Arnold was Adam's girlfriend most likely soon-to-be fiance, who had been raised and remained Episcopalian. 

“At least he stopped trying to convert the rest of us.”

“That was a rough spring break.” Sam chortled. “I went back to California and told the story to Dean, who seemed to have more of an issue with Adam belonging to a high-on-life loosely based Christian cult than him trying to convert us. Then again, Dean's been a Catholic since he was ten.” He sighed. “I thought for sure when Ignacia died he'd leave his faith. Sometimes it just drives me crazy how he can just... I don't know... believe in all that stuff.”

“Sam, I know how you feel about that in some regard. I've run into patients that don't believe in vaccines. That's all well and good, but I just wish they'd realize that you can't do missionary work in third world countries without them. There are mothers over in those places praying that the Red Cross will show up with those lifesaving things.” He could actually see her shaking her head as she was speaking – he knew this speech pretty well. “I always fear there's going to be a polio outbreak and then those parents whose kids weren't vaccinated are going to sue someone.”

“I doubt any lawyer would take that case. I wouldn't.” Sam snorted. 

“Well, I'm going to let you go. I just wanted to let you know where your father was.” She yawned. “I think I'm getting too old for the night shift.”

“I'll call Dad later today.” Sam closed the folder, not wanting to look at it any longer. “Appreciate you calling me.” 

“I'll talk to you later. Bye, sweetie.” 

“Bye Mom.” Sam replied and hung up. He hadn't even put the phone down when it rang again. He took one look at the number and inwardly cursed. “Good morning, Mr. Alder.”

“Sam! Glad I caught you, I was afraid you'd be out playing golf, nice day like today.” The voice of his boss sometimes made Sam want to puke. How he could sound so cheerful when he was such an asshole was beyond him.

“I don't golf, sir.” Sam kept his voice even. “I was just getting ready to do a few things around the house that need doing.” 

“Hate to bother you on a Saturday, but I forgot to mention to you yesterday that a new employee is starting at the firm on Monday. I was hoping you could take her around, introduce her to everyone, show her the ropes. That sort of thing.” How Zachariah Alder could dish out more work making it sound like it was an extra serving of ice cream instead of the pain in the ass it was, Sam wasn't sure.

“I can do that, sir. No problem.” Sam took a breath. “I'm not too busy next week. What's this girl's name?”

“Her name is Rebecca – last name Rosen.” Mr. Alder cleared his throat. “She's a very hard worker and comes highly recommended.”

“Rosen?” Sam thought for a moment, trying to recall where he'd heard that last name before. “As in Rosen, Stadler and McKinley, the major firm in New York?”

“That's the one. She just moved to Cincinnati, so you might also take her around town, help her get acquainted with the city.” 

Sam wondered what the hell his boss was up to – most likely trying to kiss some major ass. “It shouldn't be too big of a problem. Well, Mr. Adler, I need to go – the lawn won't mow itself.”

“I understand. See you Monday Sam.” He still had that tone that made Sam want to puke.

“See you Monday sir.” He hung up the phone and dropped it. “Great, just what I needed – _more_ work.” He stood up and headed for the garage. Maybe some heavy-duty yard work would get his mind off things for a while.

*  
John Winchester sat on the back of the Impala, looking out over the Mississippi River. He'd told Kate he had gone to Blue Earth, but he hadn't. He was in Fort Douglas. He'd spent hours reading his journal last night – looking over the hunts prior to the shtriga. The only clue he could find was that when he returned to that run-down motel in the hunt right before, Dean had been more relieved than normal that he was back. Almost like he used to be back before things in the Winchester household went to Hell and Mary died. He'd been so tired, so mentally drained from hunting that he'd made note of it only because he thought Dean was losing his nerve – that some of his steel had faded – and that maybe it wasn't such a good idea to leave his five year old in the hands of a nine year old. 

What a complete and total asshole he'd been. It was a classic, textbook case – unable to impress him with hunting skills, Dean had tried a new tactic to succor his favor. Just like all abuse victims did with their attackers. When he showed up in Fort Douglas and things weren't the same, with everything else that had gone wrong, he just snapped. 

He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. Somehow, it all made sense now. Dean's deep seated hatred for him. It wasn't about the fact that he'd beaten the boy several times- though that was plenty of reason. It was something deeper. Dean had expected him, his father, to protect him from monsters. Not just the ones that killed mothers and the kind that were supposed to be imaginary. He was supposed to protect them from the ones that walked around preying on the weak – the helpless, and the innocent. He was not supposed to be the monster. 

How could he have been such a complete and utter bastard? Dean had been _nine._ Nine fucking years old and had the responsibilities of someone almost three times his age. His eldest had been trying so hard, doing all he could – and what had his father done? Attacked him for being weak, for being sick, for being asleep at one in the morning. 

John staggered to his feet and dry heaved into the bushes. After brushing his mouth off with his sleeve he went back to the car. He had a feeling that Sam was going to just add evidence to his belief when he finished with the file that he knew his son now had. Sam had told him he'd gotten it the other day and would look through it this morning. The urge to drive like mad over to Cincinnati and see Sam was pretty strong, but right now, all he could do was stagger back to his car. 

He resumed his seat on the trunk of the Impala, remembering that night in November when he'd huddled on the hood of this same car with his and Mary's boys and watched their house burn. Azazel was dead. Mary was avenged – but even John knew that deep down, the Winchester family would always be broken. That couldn't be healed, no matter how hard he tried. 

He took a deep breath and picked up his journal, flipping to the front and pulled a face-down photograph out that had been held in place with a green paperclip. The last time he'd seen Dean, ten years ago, the boy had punched him dead in the face. John knew he deserved that then, he knew he deserved that now. He could still remember Adam looking at him with that damn sarcastic look on his face when he was yelling at Dean's closed and locked door.

_“Uh, Dad? You do know he can't hear you, right?”_

In retrospect, it was almost, almost funny. He glanced at the date on the back of the photo – _July 4, 1988_ – and then flipped it over. Him, Sam and Dean, sitting where he was now, parked in Pastor Jim's driveway. Him and Sam with identical smiles and Dean with Mary's. The last summer he had both his boys. John set his journal aside and just sat and stared at Mary's boys. 

**  
“I want to thank you again for letting me borrow your clothes.” Castiel felt rather embarrassed as he sat down on the bed without a shirt on in the room he was using while Dean sanitized a pair of tweezers. The jeans were a little long in the leg and the shirts were also about two sizes too big, but after seeing the condition of Jimmy Novak's shirt, he felt he really shouldn't complain. 

“I'm sorry, did you say something?” Dean lifted his head from his work. 

“I said thank you for letting me borrow your clothes.” He also wondered how many more times he'd have to remind himself that Dean was deaf.

“It's fine. What's Lis doing, can you hear her?” He tilted his head towards the door.

The angel sat for a moment and then heard the girl talking down the hall. 

_“Nu, mulţumesc, nu-mi pasă de nici o varză.”_

Castiel blinked at the girl's odd accent at speaking – and who on earth was she talking to about not wanting any cabbage? “I believe she is speaking Romanian. Or attempting to, at the very least.”

“All right.” Dean nodded. “That's what she's supposed to be doing.” He picked up Castiel's wrist in one hand and began to unravel the bandage with his other one. 

“I don't understand what cabbage has to do with anything.” He frowned.

Dean gave him a look. “Pardon?”

_“Cartofii au fost delicioase. Ar putea, te rog să-mi dai reţeta?”_

“And now she is asking for a potato recipe.” He shook his head, still confused.

Dean finished unraveling the bandage and then turned to pick up the tweezers. “I think she is working on some basic phrases.” He adjusted his hold on Castiel's wrist. “This has healed rather nicely. Taking the stitches out might pinch a little.” 

“I am fine, Dean.” The angel watched as he slowly undid the line of catgut, revealing a long white scar that ran almost the entire length of his palm. As the last of the stitches were cleared away, he flexed his hand slowly. 

“Now.” The man squeezed his wrist slightly, catching his attention.

“What is it?” He tilted his head to the side, confused.

“I just want you to understand that you're not allowed to use a box cutter again – at least not without adult supervision.” He set the tweezers and bandages aside. “Any questions?”

 _“Noapte bună”_ Liesel's voice carried down the hallway again.

“Why is Liesel learning Romanian?” The angel met the man's eyes as Dean stood and picked up the surgical scissors and started to slowly cut away the bandages around his middle.

“We're going to visit her grandparents in Romania in August. Their level of English is very basic and I also know that neither of them speak more than a handful of words in ASL.” He finished undoing the bandages. “It's probably better if you lie down for this.”

Castiel nodded and shifted onto the bed, grimacing as pain shot up his back. He'd actually not been able to look at the scar since Dean changed the bandages four days ago. “There aren't that many stitches, are there?”

“No. Most of this wound was cauterized.” He cleaned the tweezers, sanitized them and then began to slowly pluck at the small row of catgut. “It looked mostly healed on Tuesday.”

“Have you ever been to Romania, Dean?” Castiel closed his eyes, trying to keep his breathing calm. The pain in his back was starting to become more acute.

“Not since shortly after Liesel was born.” He frowned. “I'm not hurting you, am I?”

“I am not comfortable on my back.” He let out a breath. “That is all.”

“I'm almost finished here.” Dean cleaned up the last of the stitches. “I'm afraid you're going to have a scar there as well.”

“That is fine.” He took a breath. “I don't think the cuts are my biggest problem.”

_“Subiectul meu favorit în şcoală este limba engleză.”_

“Apparently Liesel's favorite subject at school is English.” He frowned. “How exactly is she learning Romanian?”

“There's a program on the computer that helps her. What is your biggest problem?” Dean helped him sit up and then cleaned off the Enochian sigil scar on his chest.

“I don't think my wings are healing.” The angel swallowed a lump in his throat. “And I can't bind them myself.” 

Dean frowned and switched from speaking to signing. _“Why is that a problem? I know how to wrap broken bones.”_

He picked up why the man was signing – he didn't want there to be a chance of the girl overhearing. _“I don't want to risk making you uncomfortable.”_ Castiel had never admitted to the Dean he knew what he was about to tell this one. _“Wings are – highly sensitive to touch. I don't know if I would be able to keep perfectly calm while you set them.”_

The man gave him a surprised look before responding. _“Well, if you can just remember to breathe deeply and try not to curse, I think we'll be fine.”_ He paused. _“Is some kind of weird soul bonding thing going to happen if I touch your wings?”_

The angel swallowed and slowly nodded. _“It's not an absolute, but there is a possibility.”_

 _“Then just keep your hands, Grace, whatever your energy thing is off my soul and we should be fine.”_ He smiled slightly. _“That work?”_

 _“Yes.”_ He took a deep breath. _“I'd also advise that Liesel get off the computer, in case I accidentally cause a fuse to blow.”_

“All right.” Dean replied and headed out of the room. A few moments later, he heard the girl ask him if she could go to a friend's house. Castiel took advantage of being alone in the room to relax his shoulders and slowly arch his back, letting his wings come out of hiding. 

Feathers fluttered down around him like snow in shades of brown and black. He could see several scabby looking places on the undersides where fragile down was slowly growing in. The right wing looked much better than the left, which sadly, wasn't saying much. The feathers were stuck out at odd places, against the grain, stinging faintly. The left, the broken one, hung down an odd angle, the radial bone almost ready to break through the skin. Castiel felt like crying. His wings hadn't even looked this horrible when he got back from Hell. And they _hurt_. They used to be such beautiful, majestic things – and now the wings of a buzzard outshone his. He covered his face with his hands, holding his sobs inside. The state of his wings was, of course, all his own fault. 

He didn't know how long he sat there, keeping his tears at bay, but a soft thump caused him to lift his head. “What?” He saw that Dean had set a tray on the dresser and then had moved a short, backless bench into the room. 

“I think this will be easier if you're not sitting on the bed.” Castiel noticed that Dean's voice had changed. He sounded – _enthralled._

“Very well.” He grabbed a hold of the foot-board and slowly stood, stepping over to where the man had put the seat. Dean helped him sit down and he rested his arms on his legs. “If I say anything inappropriate while you're doing this, I do apologize.” 

Dean arched an eyebrow at his words. “You think I'm going to hear it if you do?” He smiled and sanitized his hands before moving to stand behind him. 

Castiel gritted his teeth as he felt hands come to rest on the ridge of his left wing, gently probing the area. It stung, but the underlying feeling of contact – was like a rush of joy straight to his Grace. He grasped the seat of the bench, loving the feeling of gentle fingers nudging feathers back into place. He closed his eyes, letting his mind drift as the sensations continued, mixed with the scent of lavender, chamomile, and a trace of soap. There was no rigidness in the man's movements – only tenderness and patience. He let himself sink into the warmth of it, the feeling that someone cared, that there was kindness, not just misery. He barely let out a gasp of pain as he felt Dean's hands snap the broken bone back into place.

“Almost finished.” Dean's voice seemed to come from somewhere far away from him. “I'll bind this one up and then I'll clean your other wing.”

He nodded in reply as Dean's hand gently tucked the wing into its folded position and wrapped the appendage in bandages. The pain that had been tormenting him for a week in that wing had gone from wrenching to a dull ache. He stretched out his other wing on reflex, grimacing as he felt a few more feathers fall. 

“You want me to wrap the other one as well? It might help the feathers grow back.” Dean's voice was shaky. Whatever feelings Castiel was exuding, it was starting to affect the man. 

He nodded again – honestly, he didn't trust himself to speak, even if Dean couldn't hear him. 

Dean finished tying off the last of the gauze around Castiel's left wing before picking up the sponge and slowly washing the feathers and sore patches of his right. He wished the angel would have said something sooner – he had to have been in agony with these looking the way they did. Several of the feathers came right out, partially singed or bearing faint traces of blood. He glanced over Castiel's shoulder and saw that the front side of this wing was much, much worse than the other. Once the grime was cleared away, the feathers were revealed to be a beautiful shade of mahogany rimmed with ebony. He shook his head to clear it and moved around to Castiel's front, kneeling down so he could clean the softer down. 

The second his hand made contact, he was aware of the change in the room. He could feel the angel's breath, heavy and fast against the side of his face, like Castiel was struggling to hold something back. It was also far warmer in the room than it should be. Dean set one hand on Castiel's shoulder – to ground both of them as he washed away the accumulated blood and dirt. Several more feathers fell and he became aware of the fact that he was _crying_ as those feathers fluttered to the floor. He blinked the tears away as his fingers gently put the remaining feathers to rights. Just as he was about to pull away, Castiel's hand shot up from where it had been clenching the stool and slid onto the back of his head, the fingers threading through his hair.

This time, the contact shot through him like fire. No one had done anything like this in almost two years. “Ca-as.” He knew his voice had to have cracked, he felt it crack as the hand continued to massage his scalp. Dean slowly felt his eyes start to close as Castiel's other arm slipped around his waist. It felt warm, it felt _amazing,_ as if some long dormant part of his soul was waking up and stretching. It was wonderful and almost indescribable. His head shifted to the side, and a fraction of a second later, he felt lips touch his. 

Dean had never in his life kissed another man – nor had he ever thought or dreamed about it. He'd seen it done, been rather embarrassed the first time – but after a while, just accepted it as another part of life. The angel's kiss was soft but insistent, looking for something more than what was present. Dean gave himself over to the feeling – because damn it all, he loved the feeling of actually feeling _alive._ He slanted his mouth open, touching Castiel's lips with the tip of his tongue, inviting him to do the same. 

Castiel had never kissed a soul in his life. He'd never kissed another angel. It was something he had only observed. Now that he was actually _doing_ it, he understood why humans did it. His Grace sparked in his mind and as the kiss deepened, he saw it. Dean's soul, brighter and stronger than the soul he had pulled from Hell, but just as pure and as righteous was glowing inside the man, beckoning him closer. All the angel wanted to do was hold it, cherish it – keep it safe from harm. 

A light-bulb shattered and the spell was broken. 

Dean pulled away, his face bright pink, his bottom lip slightly swollen from where the angel had been sucking on it. He shook his head, trying to clear it. “I...”

Castiel grabbed the seat of the stool again, hoping he wouldn't break it. “Perhaps you should just bind it up – I'm sure it's clean enough.” 

“Right.” He stood on shaky legs and picked up the torn sheets and gauze he was using for bandages.

***  
Sam walked into work on Monday almost forgetting that he'd have a new employee to help when he got there. As it was, the sight of a woman younger than he was with straight dark-blond hair and very prominent eyes instantly made him recall his conversation with Mr. Alder on Saturday. He'd no sooner gotten to his desk and gotten his computer turned on when his boss showed up, the young woman in tow.

“Sam! Glad you got here early.” Mr. Alder had that damn smile on his face again – the one Sam just wanted to slap off of his face.

“Traffic wasn't so bad.” He hadn't even sat down yet. “And this must be Miss Rosen?”

“Becca,” she stated, holding out her hand – Sam noted that her fingernails were painted blue. “It's nice to meet you, Mr Winchester.”

“Sam,” he replied as he shook her hand and looked to their boss. “I'll have those briefs on the Javersen case on your desk before lunch.”

“I know you will, Sam.” He grinned. “I'll leave you to it.” He turned and walked away.

He let go of the young woman's hand and took a deep breath. “He already tell you where your desk is?”

“Uh huh.” She adjusted her sweater, her smile vanishing as if it had been washed off. “I'm sorry he's making you do this.”

“You know Mr. Alder that well?” Sam led her away from his desk and down the hallway.

“No, but I know the type.” She shifted her gaze to the row of desks and lowered her voice. “I don't even know why he wants you to show me around here. It's pretty self explanatory, right?”

He shrugged. “I think Mr. Alder is wanting you to have a more... in depth tour, I'm thinking.” They stopped at the receptionist desk. “Now, Becca, I take it you already know Scott.” He indicated the man who had just hung up the phone.

“Hi.” She smiled weakly.

“Hello.” Scott's smile was more certain. “Yes, we've met.” He turned to Sam. “How did your bracket come out?”

“Lousy.” He chuckled. “One of these days I'm going to learn that just because it's my alma mater, I shouldn't always have Stanford in the final game.”

“Oh, it's all in good fun.” The phone started ringing and Sam led Becca away.

“He seems nice.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Scott's one of the nicest people in this place – and never act surprised if he asks where you got your shoes. Just tell him and move on.” The two of them headed down another hallway.

*  
The phone was ringing in Zachariah's office and he frowned when he saw that someone had completely managed to bypass calling the front desk and connected straight to his office. Hopefully, it wasn't some client freaking out over something – _again_. You could only look at so many divorce cases before you started to question why humans bothered to get married at all. He sat down and pushed the number for the line as he picked up the receiver. “Zachariah Alder.” 

“Hello, Zach.” 

The man instantly blanched. “Gabriel,” he replied.

“Oh, you missed me. How sweet.” The archangel sounded cheery. Of course he was happy. He was in Texas where it never got cold, the food was incredible and not to mention the fact he was assigned to the least surly Winchester brother. “Wow, anger issues much?” Gabriel's voice cut into his mental tirade.

“Apologies.” He shifted in his seat and nudged the door to his office with his mind, making it swing shut slowly. “Though I do hope you haven't called just to gloat.”

“Of course not. You're not still trying to play matchmaker on Sam, are you?” 

The silence, Zachariah knew, would be enough of an answer. 

“Sheesh, Zach, you need to get out more. I hope you haven't gotten a cherub in on that.” Gabriel sighed. “Well, at least you're more congenial than Daniel is. I think a few too many hurricane evacuations got to him.”

The other angel's lips quirked a bit at that. “If he wants to trade wind, flooding and rain for snow at any time, I'd be more than happy to change places.”

“Oh, but you have far to much fun up there.” Gabriel's voice was almost laughing. “I didn't call you to gloat, Zachariah. I'm going to need a favor.”

“What sort of favor?” 

“You and I both know that John Winchester is trying to make peace with his eldest. Apparently, he can't leave well enough alone and just let go. But I'd rather leave Sam and Adam out of it. I just need you to keep Sam busy. Just don't make it asinine things – make sure it's real work. Adam's got enough with school to keep him occupied – not to mention he's also got a girlfriend, so there's no worries there.” Gabriel took a breath. “You sound tense. Find some monsters to turn to ash and let out that aggression. It's not good for you.”

“I'm too busy playing the respectable head of a law firm to take part in such... pastimes.” Zachariah seethed. Smiting a few demons or even a werewolf sounded _wonderful_ right about now.

“Then start playing _Call of Duty_ with Danny and me. We meet on Friday nights – unless Dean's working late and I've got to watch the kid, but that rarely happens.” Gabriel cleared his throat. “Unless you just spend your Friday nights decoupaging, or something.”

“Very funny.” He frowned. “I suppose that could be beneficial.” He raised his head at the knock on his door. “Come in.” He saw his secretary open the door. “I will call you back shortly.”

“Yeah, yeah... and the dinosaurs are coming back tomorrow.” Gabriel hung up.

“Am I interrupting something, sir?” the woman asked, grasping the folder she was holding tighter.

“Not at all. Are those the briefs I asked Winchester to prepare?” He held his hand out for the file.

“Yes, Mr. Alder,” she replied and gave it to him.

***  
Dean lay in his bed, watching the shadows dance across the ceiling. He had done his best not to think about the kiss between him and Castiel. Neither of them had mentioned it since it happened and really, the only time he thought about it was when he was alone like this. Sighing, he rolled over and hugged the pillow on the other side of the bed. He didn't want to admit it, but that single kiss had opened up a lot of wounds he thought had healed. 

The past several years had been rather blurry – a haze of finishing school, work – and raising his daughter. Sometimes he had trouble believing the girl would be eight in two months. Ignacia had loved being a mother. He had the photographs to prove it. He'd buried his grief in work and being a parent. Perhaps not too different from John Winchester. The main difference in being that what had taken Ignacia hadn't been something he could have reached out and physically killed. He still loved the woman, despite the passage of time. Perhaps that was what was so confusing to him. Castiel he barely knew, and yet he could feel that there was something there – the angel had told them there was a chance of something like this happening, if that's what this was. 

How in the world was he supposed to love two separate people in the same sort of way at the same time? He tightened his grip on the pillow, not even sure if what was going on between him and Castiel was something like that. Whatever it was, the angel didn't feel like bringing it up either. And what if he went back to his world? What if he was attached to the Dean in that world in some fashion? He just needed some answers, that was all. 

*

Castiel knew that something was going on with him when he woke up at four in the morning and couldn't get back to sleep after an hour of trying. It took him a while to realize what it was, but when he sat up, rubbing his face he realized it – he wasn't tired as he should have been waking up at that hour, having only gone to bed six hours prior. He had been in this place for almost two weeks and he was already starting to prefer it it to the place he left. He got up from the bed and walked over to the stool that had been set next to the window and sat down, taking the knitted blanked from the bed with him. His wings still ached, but he recognized the slight sting of regrowing feathers. That meant they were healing – and while his Grace didn't feel much stronger than it had right before he left that warehouse in Van Nuys, it hadn't weakened either. 

Sam and Dean. Bobby – how were they doing? Had they stopped Zachariah and Michael? Had Dean just gone ahead and said yes? He swallowed back the bitter bile that rose in his throat at the thought. Then again, he was in the house of a Dean who would have said 'yes' to Michael in a heartbeat. But that was different. The Dean here was different. He didn't understand how the man could have so much faith in God when he, an angel, had so little. Then again, the Dean sleeping down the hallway would probably have the good sense _not_ to go making deals with crossroads demons.

Castiel rested his head against the glass, looking down into the street. He had to wonder how no one else had observed him falling into this place. Near the end of all the driveways he could see, there were bright purple bins for recycle pick-up, along with trash bags, no more than two to a home. A man jogged down the street and then a few minutes later, a dog barked as he passed another house. The day to day, normal things humans did. This world had no idea how lucky it was. What it had so narrowly avoided. It could look like his world right now – Dean had told him about the nightmare world Zachariah had put him in. Croatoan virus everywhere, humanity almost decimated, Lucifer in Sam, and him – a hollow, drugged-out shell of an angel. 

Why was he _here_ anyway? Landing in this place was almost like some sort of treat. He didn't have to fight demons, he didn't have angels after him, and no one demanded anything from him – apart from the fact that Liesel had told him he should make his bed every morning. He'd given the girl a funny look when she'd said it – then realized that making his own bed was a simple gesture of manners. Perhaps he should offer to help with the dishes or something as well. He didn't tell Dean about what his daughter had said – the girl was, after all, only seven. All he had to do here was make his bed and heal. Rest. Recover. Foreign concepts to him until now. 

He straightened up and wrapped the knitted blanket around himself. He wasn't entirely sure what had happened when Dean had mended his wings. It wasn't a soul-bonding; he'd let go before that could occur. However, it nearly had. He'd been nanoseconds away from touching Dean's soul and then pulled away. The real problem, he supposed, was that now the kiss and Dean were starting to become what he thought about more than anything. Not about the Sam and Dean he left behind, but the one in the house with him. Castiel didn't even know if staying here was an option. 

_Or is it that you don't want to go back there?_

Castiel swallowed, thinking on that. He knew he should go back, help the Winchesters out – he'd rebelled against Heaven for them, lost everything and – _and you're going to go back there so you can just get killed? You know that's what will happen if you go back._ He stood, heading back to the bed. Pain, loneliness, hunger, exhaustion – all of that he could handle. Confusion was what he couldn't stand. The need to go home and do all he could was just as strong as the want to stay here. Now that he was in a proverbial place where the grass was _definitely_ greener, all he could do was look at the old grass and want to make it just as green.

_That's impossible._

What was he supposed to do? Find someway to go home?

_Maybe you were sent here._

He gripped the foot-board, thinking. What was he supposed to do here? Dean's words from a few days ago echoed in his mind. Why would he have been sent here? To hunt monsters? Teach self-defense classes? He let go of the iron rail and threw on a pair of sweatpants. The confusion was getting to him again. He quietly left his room and headed downstairs. Perhaps if he just _accepted_ the fact that he was trapped here indefinitely, solutions to more things would present themselves. 

Castiel stepped into the kitchen, frowning slightly. The clock on the microwave said it was five-forty-five. In fifteen minutes, Dean's alarm would go off, followed by Liesel's fifteen minutes after that. The two of them would leave for work and school in an hour and thirty minutes. He flipped the light on and then caught sight of exactly what he needed.

*  
Liesel came into the kitchen, still half-asleep despite the fact that she was dressed for school. Oddly enough, it smelled like dad was cooking breakfast – on a Thursday, of all days. She stopped short when she caught sight of Mr. Cas standing over the stove, muttering at a frying pan. The room was heavy with the scent of sausage, eggs, and oven-prepared hash browns. “Uh... did I sleep straight through to Saturday?”

Castiel looked up from the pan and smiled. “Good morning.”

“Good morning...” She took a few more steps into the room. “Are – you can cook?”

“I believe I've read the directions in this book and on the packages themselves that they should be prepared correctly.” He tilted his head, looking puzzled. “What's wrong? Are you not hungry?”

She was still trying to take all this in. Cooked breakfast on a weekday was a _major_ treat, usually reserved only for birthdays and other holidays. “I – was it supposed to be a surprise or something?”

He poked at the eggs in the pan, adjusting them. “For the past two weeks, you and your father have done a very good job of taking care of me. I thought I should do something for you.” He looked up. “I'm sorry, I wasn't sure if this was all right or not.”

“I... thank you...” She swallowed and took a few steps closer to the island. “Did you put _cheese_ in the eggs?”

“This Claire woman recommended it.” He nodded to the book. “Though there was also a bit about leftover hamburger, which you did not have, so I omitted it – and you are quite welcome.”

“Mr. Cas, I'm not going to come home from school with Mr. Jay and he and I are going to find you've made like, a million cookies, am I?”

“There is not enough sugar or flour in the house for me to do that.” He frowned. “Why are you so surprised that I have cooked breakfast for you and your father?”

“Liesel?” Dean's voice came from the doorway, and they both turned towards him. “What's...” He took the scene in and gave Castiel the exact same confused look his daughter had. “You're cooking breakfast?”

“It is the most important meal of the day, is it not?” 

“Yeah.” Dean went over to the counter, took down a mug, and went over to the electric tea-kettle. “I'm just...” He set the mug down to let the teabag steep. “Thank you. It smells wonderful.”

“You're welcome.” He turned his attention back to the eggs.

“I'll... set the table.” Liesel went to get the clean plates and silverware out of the dishwasher.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean untied the surgical mask from behind his head and tossed it into the bin. It had been a horrible day. No matter how many times he saw it, death was still not easy in the operating room. He went over to the sink to scrub his hands, knowing that, down the hall, a father was going to get a message that made his heart ache for the unknown man. He'd watched his beloved Ignacia slip away – and the widower down the hall hadn't gotten the chance to say good bye. Right now, Dean just wanted to go home and sleep. A six hour surgery to try and save the mother of four children and it had ended in death. He walked out of the OR and went down to the nurse's station to sign out. He would go home, take a nap, have a late dinner, and then do the paperwork. 

It was crazy, letting death still affect him the way it did. He lived with it everyday in his line of work. How many patients had gone into the OR and not come out? He did have the advantage in that he never had to walk down that hallway to the waiting rooms. He was as faceless as the nurses at times. He glanced at his watch – it was already after six. Jay had probably already gotten Liesel her dinner and heard her spelling words. He sighed and went into the locker room, changing out of his scrubs into his street clothes. 

Just getting home sounded good right now. He finished tying his shoes, shut his locker and headed back down to the nurse's station to double check his schedule for tomorrow. The woman behind the desk looked up as he approached, giving him a worn smile.

“Evening Dr. Coulter.”

“Hello, Janice,” he replied. “Has tomorrow changed at all?” He leaned against the desk, watching as she checked her computer screen.

“There's just that tonsillectomy at eleven.” She paused. “Oh, and Mr and Mrs Abernathy wanted you to stop down and see them in the PICU before you went home.”

“The twins' parents?” Dean frowned. “Did they sat what it was about?”

“No. But they didn't sound upset.” She picked up the phone, and he turned away and went to the elevators. The PICU was just two floors down, so it was on the way, so to speak. 

He adjusted his name badge on his lanyard as the elevator doors swung open, and he stepped into the hallway. The stringent smell of Lysol and oxygen hit him before he even reached the door of the PICU. He rarely came in here, but each time he did, he said a silent thanks to that professor at Stanford who convinced him not to become a pediatric surgeon. As it was, Dean had issues putting kids under for surgery at times. Mr and Mrs Abernathy weren't hard to find – they were sitting between two beds in the room near the end of the hallway. 

“Dr. Coulter,” Mrs Abernathy said as he came to the door. 

“You said you wanted to talk to me?” He signed as he spoke, catching the attention of the woman's husband.

“Yes,” she started to reply in kind, “we just wanted to thank you for what you did for our girls.” She turned to the two beds where the girls were sleeping. He could see the monitors' even beeping on both of the children, measuring their heartbeats. Even though they were both well on the road to recovery, the hospital wasn't taking a lot of chances.

“I'm just an anesthesiologist; I was not seriously involved in the surgery.” 

Mr. Abernathy came to stand next to his wife. He was likely the same sort of deaf that Dean's dad Michael was – he could hear a little, but not much. “They told us you were modest,” he signed. “You made sure Hallie and Jennifer had sweet dreams during surgery and that they didn't wake up too soon.”

It was on the tip of Dean's tongue to tell them that almost no one ever dreamed while under the influence of anesthesia, but he decided he'd let it go – the twins were only five, after all. “You're welcome,” he replied. “Is there anything else I can do for you tonight?”

“No, and again – thank you,” Mr. Abernathy replied, and then he returned to his seat between the beds.

“Yes, thank you,” his wife replied and went to join him.

Dean nodded and headed back out into the hallway. 

*  
When he let himself into the house, Dean wasn't surprised to find that Jay was sitting at the kitchen table, waiting for him. The man always seemed to know when his work day had been a horrible one. He should have expected this. He hung up his keys on the small rack next to the door and stepped into the room. “Evening.”

“Hey.” Jay stood up and went to the fridge. “I think it's better if you eat now, rather than wait.”

“I'm not hungry.” He got a glass out of the cupboard and then some ice from the freezer. 

The man squeezed his shoulder. “I've known you for too long; that's not going to work with me. You get your water, and have a seat.” 

“You don't have to do this.” He tried to ignore the containers the man had just gotten out and set on the counter.

“Hush up. You sit, I'll heat this up and go.” He turned away to get a plate.

“Fine.” Dean walked resolutely to the island and sat down after filling his glass with water. “How was Lis today?”

Jay filled the plate with leftover meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and gravy and put it in the microwave before turning around to respond. “She's fine. Though she has asked me to tell you to try and stop waiting until Friday to ask how her school week went.” 

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, staring down into his glass for a moment. “Friday's family dinner night, no matter what.” He rubbed his face. “I know I need to make a better effort, or one of these days I'm going to be surprised when I come home to an empty house and wonder where the time went.”

“You've got a ways to go before that happens.” He turned to get the food from the microwave and then set it and a fork in front of Dean. “As far as single parenting goes, I think you're doing a fantastic job. Liesel is just feeling a little... ignored right now.”

 _“Did she tell you that?”_ He made no motion to pick up the fork. _“Is something wrong?”_

Jay held out his hands, his expression pained. _“She's been a little upset since her teacher told her this week she can't invite you to the Mother's Day tea party her class is having.”_

 _“Why not?”_ Dean looked stunned. _“Isn't her teacher aware of the fact that Liesel lives in a single parent home?”_

 _“Yes, she knows.”_ He took a breath. _“I was pretty annoyed when Lis told me. Her idea is to get an empty chair and scream at anyone who tries to sit in it.”_

 _“I can't believe she didn't tell me about this.”_ Dean picked up the fork and stabbed at his food. This was only their second Mother's Day without Ignacia. He couldn't blame her for being upset and the idea of having some teacher tell his daughter she couldn't invite the person who was both her mother and father to a party seriously annoyed him. _“When did all this happen?”_

 _“It started back on Monday.”_ He took a breath and started speaking and signing at the same time again. “I'm sorry, I should have brought this up sooner.” 

Dean ate for a few moments, going over what his friend had told him. He hated to think about the fact he'd not noticed what a lousy week his own kid was having. Was that one of the reasons Castiel had gotten up and made them breakfast this morning? Was the angel aware of what was going on? He put his fork down, annoyed more with himself than anything else. _“Is Liesel mad at me?”_

 _“She knows you're busy. She's not mad – I think she's just disappointed you seem to have to work all the time.”_ Jay frowned. _“Why don't you go up and talk to her after you're done eating?”_

 _“I should.”_ He ate a few more bites of food. _“I'll be able to pick her up from school tomorrow; I only have one surgery to attend.”_

 _“I know. You planned on that, remember?”_ Jay's eyes suddenly lit with amusement. Clearly, he remembered something Dean hadn't. _“Your parents are coming, they're going to spend almost two weeks here. Liesel's making her First Communion next weekend; your mom needs to alter the dress?”_

Dean covered his face with his hands, shocked. He had _completely_ forgotten about his parents' visit with everything that had been going on. “My mom is going to say the house is a mess.” He lowered his hands, panic setting in. “What am I going to tell them about Castiel?”

“That's already handled. I talked it over with him; he'll stay with me since I don't have to come here for a while.” He came over to the island. “Just until you're ready to introduce him to your parents.”

“You say that like he and I are more than just friends, Jay.” He shook his head and turned his attention back to his dinner. He'd be able to think things through a little more clearly with a full stomach.

*  
“Now, you'll have to excuse the slight mess,” Gabriel said to Castiel as they came into a small ranch home. “And don't worry, nothing bites.” He flipped on the light and there was a sound of scurrying feet. A limping coyote came out of the kitchen, looking as eager as any puppy dog. “Oh, hello, Alice.” The archangel knelt down and the animal bounded-limped across the room to lick his face. “What a good girl.” He ruffled the creature behind the ears before standing up.

Castiel looked down at Alice, who was sniffing at his hand. “Did you do something to the person who hit her?”

Gabriel laughed. “Just their car.” He headed for the kitchen. “Put your bag on the couch; I'll introduce you to everyone.”

“Everyone?” The angel frowned as he set his bag down and followed Gabriel.

'Everyone' turned out to be two racoons, a badger, and a stray cat – all of them in various stages of healing. Though as to why the archangel hadn't fixed their injuries instantly when he found them, Castiel had no idea. 

**  
Elisa Coulter wasn't too surprised when her son called, not even bothering to hide his flustered manner over the video-phone, apologizing about forgetting their impending visit. Her son had a habit of working too hard – and her granddaughter hadn't realized that it was okay to tell her dad that he might have forgotten something. She went back to finishing her packing, carefully wrapping the small lace dress in tissue paper. The same dress that she had worn on her First Communion many years ago, and her own mother before that – and even her grandmother had worn it. The dress had been made by her grandmother's mother. She set a pair of cream colored ribbons into the box with the dress and then closed it, hoping that she wouldn't have to alter it too much on her granddaughter. Liesel was a tiny thing, she had noticed that at Christmas when Dean and her were here, in Maryland. Then again, the girl's mother had been small, so it was to be expected. She added a few more things to her bag and zipped it closed, sighing softly. 

Michael came out of the bathroom, carrying a toiletry bag. He set it in the suitcase that was open on the bed and then frowned. He tapped the case, catching his wife's attention. _“Where's the dress?”_

 _“In my carry-on, I don't trust baggage handlers.”_ She shook her head at his silent laugh and waited for him to look at her again before replying, _“Do you remember what happened to that shirt of yours?”_

Michael rolled his eyes. _“That was twenty years ago!”_

 _“Exactly! Think what could happen to our belongings now!”_ She chuckled and zipped the suitcase closed. _“Do we have everything?”_

 _“I believe so.”_ He picked up the large suitcase and set it on the floor. _“Will you please bring my carry-on down?”_

 _“Of course.”_ She replied and picked up both bags while Michael wheeled their suitcase into the hallway and downstairs.

*  
Dean watched the students file out of Holy Family school in a sea of blue and white plaid. He hadn't slept well last night; he'd been mulling Jay's words over in his mind. When, exactly, had he started to shut Lis out? It wasn't a secret that his deepest fear was turning into a father like John Winchester – and ignoring the fact that his little girl had been in a lot of emotional pain for almost a week was enough to make him a little concerned. Okay, so it was a long way from being too busy to notice to being an abusive asshole, but still – he shouldn't ignore the girl. 

The warm April breeze caused him to turn and look into the backseat as Liesel dropped her bag onto the floor of the car and buckled herself in. 

“Hey, Lis.” 

“Hi, Dad.” The girl smiled weakly. “What time does Grandma and Granddad's plane get in?”

“In a few hours – just enough time for us to go home and change clothes before heading to the airport.” He gave her a small smile. “Do you know where you want to go for dinner tonight?”

“Can't we just eat at home?” Liesel shifted in her seat and suddenly ducked her head as a group of kids passed their car, pointing.

Dean glanced at the kids and then back at his daughter. “What is it?”

The girl looked up, tears in her eyes. “They think it's funny I still have to sit in a booster seat.” 

“You're not four feet tall yet – and just barely over fifty pounds. There's nothing to be ashamed of for that.” He turned around so he could see her more clearly and not rely on the rear-view mirror so much. “Not to mention that half of those kids who aren't using boosters should be.”

“I think it's a matter of that they think I must be unaware of the fact that I'm little.” She sat back, folding her arms.

“Well, that's perfectly all right if you aren't. They clearly aren't aware of the fact that they're creeps.” Dean saw the serious visage on the girl's face crack for a second. “Oh, you're not going to laugh, are you?”

Liesel covered her face for a moment and then grinned at him. “Dad...” 

“That's what I wanted to see.” He gave her an identical smile. “Now, how about we go get ready to see your grandparents, huh?”

“Okay.” She turned her attention to the window, a signal to Dean that it was okay to turn his attention away from her and to getting them out of the parking lot. 

*  
Michael Coulter shifted in his seat, currently envying his wife, who was reading the latest Patricia Cornwell novel, completely unaware that behind them, a small girl was screaming her head off. Between her and the engines, he was half tempted to turn off his hearing aides and sink into the world of silence. However, due to the fact that it was highly unlikely that none of the flight attendants were ASL certified, he had to endure the noise along with the other hearing passengers. Of course, thanks to the engines, it wasn't as bad as it could have been. 

He looked over the crossword he was working on, certain that the damn thing was sending him some kind of crazed message. The answer to the first across clue was _John_ and, for twenty-nine down – _Winchester._ Michael couldn't think of that man without a foul taste in his mouth. The man was the reason that Dean spent the first six months in their house terrified of messing up. Michael couldn't imagine laying a finger on a child for making a mistake any child could. The only time he could remember getting swatted in any way himself was when he was six and had run into the street after a ball. The spank had been to reinforce the message to _stay out of the street_ and not for any true anger. 

Michael set the pencil down and closed his eyes. Sam and Adam Winchester had talked to him about the fact that John wanted to talk to Dean, wanted to try to fix things – or something. Hearing that only made him angry. Couldn't the man just let go and accept that fact that Dean wanted nothing to do with him?

*  
The single most frustrating thing for Liesel when Grandma and Granddad visited was the fact that the two of them and her dad starting signing rapidly and she couldn't keep up. It wouldn't be so bad if Dad didn't insist on going out for dinner on the first night. She _hated_ watching people stare at her family – but at least the wait staff at the places never seemed to say much of anything. Playing catch up and eating with people staring at her was never fun. As glad as she was to see her grandparents, her day had been pretty bad – and she would have much rather stayed at home and escaped to the freedom of her room as soon as she was full and had been excused. She reached over and put a chip into the salsa bowl in front of her. At least the restaurant was busy enough that most people were too caught up in their own conversations to stare at them openly. She nearly dropped her food when she looked at the two people who had just come in the door. It was Mr. Jay and Mr. Cas. 

“Liesel?” She felt a tap on her arm and she turned to her dad. “What is it?”

“It's who just came in the door, Dad.” She shrugged. “It's not important.” She knew that the two men hadn't seen them – they'd been taken to another part of the restaurant. She picked up her fork and ate another bite of her dinner. She half focused on the conversation her dad and grandpa were having – something about Baltimore’s upcoming season and how they were hoping it might finally be the year of the Orioles. Last year it had almost been painful to watch the St. Louis Cardinals turn the Texas Rangers into hash. Baseball was the only sport that all the Coulters could agree on – they all loved to watch it, and if she could, Liesel would play it. Really, if she and Dad could just play catch in the yard every now and then, it'd be great. 

“Mom, what are those people _doing?”_ A voice called from across the isle, and Liesel whipped her head towards the sound, hoping that the girl in question was talking about someone else. 

“Hush, Allie. It's not nice to point.” The woman looked embarrassed. “Besides, I think that little girl heard you.”

Liesel guessed Allie had to be her age or close to it. She tightened her grip on her fork, suddenly feeling three more pairs of eyes on her. She glanced up from her plate and made eye contact with her grandmother, who was frowning.

_“More ignorant people, Liesel?”_

She nodded in reply, not trusting herself to speak with her hands or her voice.

“Yeah, and that girl's probably in kindergarten.” The girl, Allie said, loud enough for half the dining room to hear.

It took all her strength not to say something back. The girl was just a brat or something. Liesel stabbed a few more vegetables on her plate and ate them, keeping her face as calm as she could. All she wanted to do was go home.

*  
Dean took a deep breath and knocked on his little girl's door. He knew full well that what had upset her at school and again at the restaurant went deeper than her having a bad day. He should have talked to her more this afternoon with all that Jay had told him, but somehow – things kept getting pushed back. His parents were already in bed, tired from their trip. “Lis?” 

She looked up from the book she was reading. “Yes? You just said I had to be in bed by eight thirty and...” 

He came into the room and sat down on her bed, taking the book from her and putting the marker in it. “All right, Funny Face, you want to tell your old man what's wrong?”

“Wrong?” She bit her lip and looked away.

“Hey.” He tapped her arm. “You can't hide the truth from me; I can tell when you're lying.” 

“It's not fair.” She hugged her knees, resting her chin on them. 

“What's not fair?” Dean smoothed her hair down. “Just tell me honey, please.”

“I'm the only person in this family who isn't deaf, I'm the only girl in my class who only has a dad, I can't do any out of school activities because it's too much of a hassle and I don't want to learn anymore Romanian!” Her face scrunched up and she sniffled. “How come _I_ have to be the one to adapt to all of this?” Her face broke. “And don't say it's because I'm a kid!”

He let out a breath and moved a little closer to her, setting his hand on her shoulder. “I don't have an answer for all of that, Liesel. I know I've told you hundreds of times how glad I am that you're not deaf. Your grandparents feel the same way. I guess...” He sighed. “I can remember being the only deaf person in a family... so I suppose I didn't think of how it would feel if it was reversed.” He gave her a small hug. “I also tend to forget that you act a lot older than your age.” 

“I just... it's not fair.” She huffed.

“I know.” He shook his head. He honestly didn't know how he was supposed to be able to fix something like this. “I guess I put a little too much on your shoulders.” He hugged her again. “Jay said your teacher doesn't want you inviting me to that tea party thing next month. Is that true?”

She nodded. “I tried to explain, but she doesn't.... I don't think she...”

“Well, she's only your teacher for another month.” Dean smiled. “What if I just showed up anyway? Do you think she'd throw me out?”

He watched as she thought for a moment and then shook her head. “No.”

“I have to go to a meeting on Tuesday for the second grade parents. I'll have a word with her then.” He let out a breath. “Lis, I don't want you thinking you can't come to me if there's a problem, okay? I know my work keeps me busy, but you're still my number one priority.”

“What about when you get home from work after I'm asleep?” Liesel sat back against the headboard. 

“Then you leave me a message.” He sighed. “You're not wanting to do gymnastics, are you?”

“No.” She bit the corner of her lip, the look Dean recognized as the same thinking expression her mom had. “I wanted to try baseball or something.”

“I'll think on it. Not making any promises, but I'll look into a few things, how would that be?” Dean hadn't brought up sports or any other such things because there never seemed to be time for things like that. But he couldn't let his life and thus, his little girl's life, be dictated by someone else. He'd lived like that once before and it had been hell. “Now, before I tuck you in for the night, is there anything else you want to tell me?”

“Uh... we've been having hang up calls again. Or did Mr. Jay already tell you about that?” She picked up her stuffed cat and hugged it. “I don't know if there were any today, but there was one yesterday and a few days ago – Mr. Jay might have gotten a few others, but I know I answered two.”

“I keep meaning to check if our number is similar to a delivery place. My cousin Jenny had that problem in college – which was particularly amusing considering people were calling to order Chinese food.” He stood up and Liesel got under the covers of her bed. “Good night, Lis.”

“Night, Dad.” She yawned and closed her eyes as Dean flipped out the light and quietly left the room. 

**  
“Well, I found that to be an enjoyable meal.” Gabriel stretched out on the couch, smiling widely. “You apparently haven't had decent Mexican food before.” 

“I fail to see how the copious amounts of fried ice cream, stuffed jalapenos and cheese sauce you indulged in count as a meal. I would also greatly appreciate it if you would not laugh at my dislike of ground beef.” Castiel sat stiffly in the easy chair, hardly showing any movement when the cat jumped into his lap and sat down. “I have my reasons.”

“I still can't figure you out.” The archangel rubbed his eyes. “Though you did seem to enjoy that fajita salad.” He pulled himself up to sit. “I'm not trying to pick on you Castiel. I'm just – I'm confused.”

“What is so confusing to you, Gabriel?” He frowned as the cat turned around on his lap, making herself comfortable, and then stretched out before closing her eyes. “Apart from the fact that your cat seems to have chosen to nap on me.”

“That's not confusing.” He waved his hand dismissively. “I know you've noticed that your Grace is strengthening. It's got a very long way to go before it's completely healed, but yet you haven't asked me if I can help you get back to where you came from.”

“I didn't feel it was proper.” Castiel swallowed. “I got myself here; I should get myself out of my own mess. The Gabriel where I come from would tell me that.”

“I must be a total dick.” The archangel ran a hand through his hair before continuing. “Let me ask you this – do you want to go back?” He held up a hand. “Now wait a minute before you answer me. I want an honest answer. I don't want you telling me you want to go back because you feel you have to, or because it's some kind of duty thing. Because the odds of you landing here, randomly, of all places, after what you did, are so impossible I can't even think of what the chance would be. I'm pretty certain you're where you're supposed to be.”

“Destiny can be changed,” he replied flatly.

“And I think yours has. I'm not omnipotent; I can't tell you why you're here. I just believe you're _supposed_ to be here.” He covered his eyes. “Is this place that bad, compared to what you left?”

“This place could have ended up the same way had John Winchester not abandoned Dean.” 

“You're wrong.” Gabriel stood up. “If John hadn't abandoned Dean, he would be dead. And not at a monster's hand, but at John's.”

“What do you mean?” Castiel frowned. “I do not see how John would murder his eldest child.”

The archangel let out a low whistle. “I think you need to rethink that. Even in your own world – there's more than one way a human can be killed. John had a good start on the boy's spirit already by the time he left him behind.”

He looked down in reply. “I do not deny that there was always...” His eyes narrowed slightly. “It was always a great frustration of mine how the Dean I pulled from Hell placed his brother above everything else. While the love is admirable, it was....”

“I get what you're saying.” His companion sighed. “I'm still trying to think what would have happened if things went the way here that they did where you came from...and what would have happened when Dean got yanked out of Hell and could hear all of a sudden. Of course, I try not to think about a world without Liesel, so that's a subject best left alone.” 

“She is – an amusing child.” Castiel set a hand on the cat, who started to purr. “I don't suppose you can tell me what you are doing playing – I believe the best term would be _nanny,_ to the child.”

Gabriel snickered. “Nanny works. I would have thought it obvious. I'm playing guardian.” His smile widened at the look on Castiel's face. “What, is that so hard to believe?”

“I find it hard to believe that Dean and his child are being guarded if there is no threat of the Apocalypse.” He titled his head, thinking. “Or are you just keeping all the monsters away?”

“Something like that – and before you ask, yes – Sam and Adam are being watched too.” He closed his eyes and winced. “I think I need to take it easy on the spice next time.”

“I don't understand.” He shook his head. “Why are you watching over the sons of John Winchester?”

“Call it making sure some idiot doesn't try to start anything.” He coughed. “It beats running around the bureaucracy of home, that's for sure.”

“I can understand that to some degree.” He leaned back in his chair. “Are you also keeping John Winchester away from here?”

“Doing my damnedest to, yes.” He sat up, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know that blood is blood and all that – but Dean doesn't want to see him, I don't want John seeing either of them – but there's one little hitch.”

“John wants to see Dean.” He frowned. “Or is it really Dean he wants to see?”

“Liesel is the only grandchild – Sam's not one for kids, and neither is Adam. Well, Sam will be as soon as he meets the right girl, but as for now... one grandchild equals one very – well, when you only have one of something, you tend to be a little... possessive.” He stood up and started to pace. “Although if he thinks he's got a right to call himself the girl's grandfather, I've got some ocean front property in Kansas to sell him.”

“If I can correctly assume what transpired between John and Dean, I believe the best expression for this is that is that the Sahara will freeze over before Dean lets John be within a hundred mile radius of his little girl.” Castiel looked back down at the cat, who had fallen asleep. “Is that a fair assessment?”

“That's pretty close.” Gabriel ran his fingers through his hair. “I already know he's gotten a hold of the Coulter's phone number. Trouble is, I'm not allowed to say anything to him – it wouldn't exactly... make sense to him; he'd freak out, and there goes the whole safety net.”

“John Winchester is an atheist,” Castiel said flatly.

“I know that.” He knelt down by the cage that held the badger, who was sleeping. “That's the other reason why, even if I could tell him, it wouldn't do any good.”

“Perhaps someone should put the fear of a higher power in John Winchester.” He shrugged absently. “If you believe in demons, logic dictates that you have to believe in angels.”

“And I suppose you think you're the one who could do it?” He snorted. “Believe me, I've tried, Daniel's tried and so have Adam and James Murphy. It's not happening.”

“I could not do it right now – or next week. I need to regain some strength before I should even attempt it.” He yawned. “I would also need to make a plan.”

“You're serious, aren't you?” Gabriel stood up. He hadn't been expecting this sort of response from Castiel. He hadn't even planned on something like this happening. 

“I know that you are going to accompany the Coulters on their trip to Romania, you told me as much. But I seriously doubt John is going to be aware of that vacation taking place.” A small smile played on his lips. “I might also need to do some research. What is the name of that awful book again about the vampires that sparkle?”

“Wait wait... this I can't believe.” The archangel stood up. “You're going to trick John Winchester into somehow coming down to Austin, convince him angels exist and scare him away from Dean and Liesel permanently? What are you going to do, trap him in a warehouse and take him on a trip through what could have been like it's freaking TV Land?”

“Why not?” The angel shrugged. “You did it for a different reason in my world.”

“I think I'd like to meet this Gabriel. He sounds like a riot.” 

“You would need to supply him with a lot of chocolate – and from what I have seen, you don't eat even a tenth of what he does.” He closed his eyes and rubbed the cat behind its ears. He wasn't sure what had made him even bring something like this up. Put the fear of his Father into John Winchester? He was currently angry with his Father. 

Castiel had a feeling he was going to have to add himself to the list of all the other things in this world he didn't understand. 

**  
Sam's hand slithered out from under the blankets to grab his cell-phone laying on the bedside table. His hangover was already starting and the last thing he wanted right now was to look at the screen of the phone and see that Mr. Alder was calling him in to work on a Saturday. When he saw that the caller was Adam, he didn't know if he should brace himself for good or bad news. He coughed, cleared his throat, and flipped the phone open. “Morning, little brother.”

“Hi Sam.” His brother sounded far too chipper for seven o'clock in the morning. 

“What's up?” He sat up, careful to not wake up the girl sleeping next to him. 

“Kelly and I are getting married!” His brother nearly shouted it and he held the phone away from his ear. 

“Have you even slept?” Sam covered his eyes and groaned. “Seriously, Adam...”

“Uh... not the reaction I was looking for... oh, shit – I woke you up, didn't I?” His brother's voice instantly sounded contrite. 

He yawned and rubbed the back of his head. “It's not the first time.” He smiled. “Congrats, Adam – that's wonderful. So tell me, is Kelly already planning things?”

“She's on her phone in the other room talking to her mom.” He made a small sound. “You'll be my best man, right Sam?”

“Of course I will.” He reached over and ran his fingers over to stroke the hair of the woman sleeping next to him. “I don't have to wear pink, do I?”

“Well, not a lot of pink, if that's the color Kelly chooses.” He sighed. “I uh.. Sam, what am I supposed to do about Dean?” 

“What do you mean?” He pulled his hand back and stretched. “Oh.” His face fell. “I see what you're saying there.”

“He's my brother too.” Adam sighed. “and well... it'd feel wrong not to invite him and yet – I don't want to know what would happen if he and Dad were in the same room together. I know for damn sure Dean wouldn't let Dad be in the same county as Liesel, let alone the same room.”

“I think Dean would understand if you don't invite him.” Sam let his head fall slightly. “I know it sounds awful when I say that – but seriously? Considering what could happen?”

“I know, I know.” Adam's voice sounded pained. “But I want all of my family to be there and our family on Dad's side is small enough as it is.” He coughed. “I wish we could just make them get along... or...”

“Adam, Dad nearly killed Dean.” Sam said it louder than he intended and the woman sleeping next to him turned over and yawned. “Trust me, we need to keep them apart.”

“What would you do, if you were me?” There was that sound in his brother's voice that Sam loathed. The one that he had when he just wanted someone else to help fix something he had to do that seemed impossible.

“I think I'd first have to find someone I'd think about marrying for me to make that kind of choice.” He scratched the back of his neck as the woman got up from the bed and walked to the bathroom. He had to look down at the bedspread so he wouldn't watch her very fit rear. “I'm going to take a shot in the dark at this and guess that Kelly wants Dean and Liesel there.” The sigh on the other end of the line told him all he needed to. “Well, you're going to have to be blunt – I think the last thing the two of you want is for a fight to break out during the reception – or the ceremony.”

“It sucks,” Adam groaned. “I'll try and explain it. I don't want to call Dean while his parents are visiting.” 

“I'd suggest that you two love birds elope, but there's no way Kelly would do that.” He heard water run for a moment in his bathroom and then shut off. “Look, can I call you back a little later?”

“You've got company.” Adam snickered. “It's about time you got laid, jerk.”

“Bitch,” he replied. “I'll call you this afternoon. If Dad doesn't charge over here once you call him with some harebrained scheme to make things better between him and Dean.”

“I wouldn't count on it. I'm going to call Daniel – given the fact that Kelly's got about half a dozen best friends, I'm going to have to find some groomsmen.”

“Aw, my little brother being all romantic and shit.” Sam laughed. “Talk to you later – and congratulations.” 

“Thanks,” Adam replied and ended the call. 

He put his cell-phone down as the woman came out of the bathroom and came back to bed, sliding into Sam's lap. 

“Sounds like your family life is Hell.” She wrapped her arms around him, resting her head against his shoulder.

He hugged her around the waist, letting out a low sigh. “It's not bad – just complicated.”

“Complicated I get. My parents divorced when I was ten – and then they both got remarried – since then it's been the blame game between all four of them. My mother's livid I'm out here in Ohio instead of with my father's firm in New York. Some bullshit about how he should do a little nepotism or something.” She kissed the side of Sam's neck. “I like it out here. Even if Mr. Alder is weird.”

“Weird is an understatement.” He slid the two of them back down under the covers. “I'm just glad that they put us in different departments – so we don't have too many repercussions from this.”

She laughed and folded her arms on his chest and watched his face for a moment. “I suppose the question now is, do we want to stay here or have breakfast?”

“You hungry, Becca?” He leered at her.

“Maybe in a bit.” She leaned forward and kissed him.

***  
Dean wanted to tell himself that it was nerves or something else that was preventing him from sleeping more than three hours at a time. He'd go to bed, sleep for three hours, be awake for an hour and a half, and then fall back asleep for another two. The week had been far too long because of it and work had been rough. That stupid resident doctor in the OR really needed to learn to shut the hell up about Dean being deaf. It was getting to the point where the resident didn't want Dean in _his_ operating room because he was obviously defective. His fellow anesthesiologists at the hospital hadn't said much about the guy, other than he was an arrogant prick who also disrespected nurses and the aides but as soon as a fellow surgeon showed up? The man went from asshole to ass-kisser. 

He threw back the covers and got out of bed. It was just after two in the morning as he stuffed his feet into slippers and quietly left his room. He paused in the hallway, looking into the room that Castiel had been using. Dean actually wished the angel was there – he missed his presence. The door to the room his parents were sleeping in was closed, and he glanced in through the crack of Liesel's door and saw that she was deep in slumber. He shook his head and went downstairs to the family room. He ran his hand along the bookshelf and then pulled down a small stack of photograph albums and sat down on the couch, clicking the lamp after setting the books down and opening the first one.

Ignacia's face beamed up at him, that sweet, sweet smile that their daughter inherited that could warm up an entire room. His own smile was just as big next to hers, both of them flushed pink with sunshine from that day spent at Six Flags in Maryland. Annie had never been to an amusement park until then and it'd been quite the trip. It was also her introduction to funnel cakes. The next few pages were the same, the two of them with friends, his family, and then there was the first trip to Romania. Dean could clearly remember that visit – even without the photographs. Annie's mother acted almost exactly the same as his own mom, Elisa did – disparaging over how little he was – which was hysterical considering that when he met his mother in law he was a hundred and ninety pounds of pure muscle. Ignacia's father reserved his judgment until the end of the visit – after Dean had helped the man build a few pieces of furniture for his business. He declared that Dean was, in fact, a good provider and protector – and he was worthy of marrying his little girl.

Dean's parents had only made sure Annie could cook and knew how to laugh before they said she could join the family. He chuckled at that – his mom had been teasing for the most part about the cooking. He closed the first album and opened the next. The wedding had been relatively small and it had been wonderful. The wedding pictures almost immediately went to those weekly pictures Annie insisted on when she got pregnant to track the progress of her baby bump. Then came the long slew of Liesel's baby pictures. It was nothing outside of the typical first child – as they always thought she would be the first of at least two – including one he always liked of him asleep on the couch, a pile of text books on the floor next to him and his five month old dozing on his chest. He let out a shuddering breath and picked up the third album – the one devoted almost entirely to Lis's first birthday. 

A flicker of shadow caused him to look up from his reverie. “Dad?” 

Michael Coulter sat down on the couch, his face drawn in worry. _“I saw a light on, and I came down here to investigate. Are you okay?”_

 _“I don't know.”_ Dean leaned back and set the album down between them. _“I haven't been able to sleep lately and well, I didn't feel like lying in bed and staring at the clock.”_

 _“Did something happen at work?”_ Michael frowned slightly before continuing to sign. _“Another dumbass saying that deaf people need to be kept from the world so as not to upset the hearing population?”_

He managed a weak grin before answering. _“Does it count if the person in question is an asshole not just to me, but to the nurses, aides and any female doctor who isn't his superior?”_

 _“Sounds like a classic asshole to me.”_ He looked down at the album and pulled it towards him a moment, his finger tracing over the image of Liesel covered in ice cream and cake and her parents beaming at the camera from either side of her. _“You know what I think?”_

 _“What?”_ Dean shifted in his seat, his focus not on the album at all.

 _“I think you're missing Annie more lately.”_ Michael felt a twinge in his chest at the pained expression on his son's face.

 _“Maybe.”_ He shook his head. _“I think at times I miss her more for Lis's sake than my own. All the other kids in her class still have their mother. And I know that's just going to get harder and harder for her as time goes by.”_

He took a deep breath before replying, _“I know one thing that she has that the other kids in her class don't. Liesel already sees the world differently than any of them. She'll be far better prepared for the real world when the time comes.”_

 _“She's almost eight Dad. I don't want her growing up too fast.”_ Dean reached over and shut the album. _“I just worry that I'm going to do something to mess her up.”_

Michael sat forward and set his hands on Dean's arms, looking his son straight in the eye. “You won't.” He cleared his throat. “And you won't end up like him. I know that for a fact.” 

Dean nodded slowly. He knew that his dad could never bring himself to say John Winchester's name. “I just...” He shook his head and held up his hands so his dad could release his hold. _“But can you blame me for worrying?”_

 _“No.”_ Michael took the album and set it on the pile on the small table. _“I think it's time you went back to bed.”_

 _“What am I, thirteen?”_ He grinned. 

_“Long weekend ahead of us and you need your rest.”_ He clapped his hands, and waved towards the stairs.

 _“Fine. Good night.”_ Dean stood and Michael followed, turning out the light behind them.

**  
John Winchester felt his heart turn over as he crossed the state line from Nebraska into Kansas. He had no idea why he was going to Lawrence, one of the last places on Earth he ever wanted to see again, but for some reason, he knew he had to go back – just once. One last trip and never again. Even with Mary's killer dead, something else might have cropped up. He leaned back in the seat of the Impala, frowning. Perhaps in some twisted way, with going back to where the whole ordeal started he could some how find a way to at least talk to Dean.

 _“You want to explain about the bruises on Dean's wrists, John?”_ Mary's voice cut through his mind as clear as it did that warm June evening when Sam was almost two months old. _“Don't lie to me!”_

That was the night he stormed out of the house, angry for the first time. He had always blamed himself for Dean being deaf, that little rogue gene running around in his DNA waiting to strike. He never told Mary how he feared that Sam would be deaf too – and never told her how glad he was that their youngest wasn't. But as soon as Sam was born, something clicked over in his mind, and Dean suddenly became a lot less important – and unfortunately, he'd started to be a shitty father even before he became a single parent.

 _“If I find another mark on him, John, I'll take the boys and leave. I'll go somewhere and you'll never find us.”_ Mary's voice had been so full of threat and anger, it was a miracle it hadn't burned him. He didn't doubt her words. Instead, like a petulant child, he'd turned and left her alone in the house with the boys for two weeks. 

At the end of the separation, he'd returned very contrite and told Mary he was sorry – and he wasn't going to hurt Dean again. And he didn't. He didn't lay a finger on his eldest for six months. The first time John ever actually _hit_ his son was on the boy's fifth birthday. 

And he wanted to make peace with Dean why, exactly? He had no right to do so – and at the same time – those pictures of the boy and his little girl taunted him when he saw them at Sam and Adam's homes. Mocking him that Dean and Mary had gotten the better of him. Dean had won despite his attempts to break him. He could never explain to Kate; he never could explain to Sam or Adam. All he knew was that he couldn't completely let go. It was far too hard to just stand back. He just couldn't bring himself to say _I'm sorry and I'm proud of you._

*  
Mary Winchester watched unseen as one of the girls who now lived in her home came down for breakfast. She hadn't been as active lately, doing nothing more than occasionally locking and unlocking doors. She had long thought that once she knew Sam was safe, she could let go. She could move on – but something held her here, in Lawrence. She didn't know what it was, and she couldn't figure out how to make the girls who moved in and out of the house understand what she needed. That was one reason she hadn't been so noticeable – she knew she had to reign in her power and keep her temper in check so she didn't cross the line into vengeful spirit. Whatever was keeping her here, she wanted to figure it out quickly – so she could move on, like she should.

A Reaper had never come for her in the first place; Azazel had made certain of that, she was sure. But you'd think they might come back and check.


	4. Chapter 4

Sunday dawned warm and muggy in Austin. Castiel knew he couldn't stay at Gabriel's much longer. What he had thought was a figment of his imagination had actually grown into a physical ache. He knew that there had been a danger when he let Dean touch his wings – and they had come dangerously close to bonding completely – if he'd grasped the man's soul, they would have. Instead, they were at least half bonded and if he was in pain, then it was a fair bet that Dean wasn't in much better shape. What little he knew of this Dean he knew that for him, it would be buried emotions coming to the surface and causing him some depression. How to make the man understand that, however, was a pretty daunting task. 

Castiel got out of bed and went over to the window. Several cars passed by, on their way to various houses of worship. He knew that later, he and Gabriel – Jay – would travel to Dean's house for some light festivities in the afternoon. He reached down and picked up the cat, who had started ignoring Gabriel completely in favor of him and settled the animal against his shoulder. “I do not think Dean will let me keep you.” He rubbed the cat's neck thoughtfully. “Though I should at least give you a name.” 

He sat down on the bed and the cat squirmed from his arms to go lie down on the warmth of the blankets the angel had recently vacated. “And yet you won't sleep on the bed when I'm in it.” He shook his head and looked down at his hands. During this past week, Gabriel had gotten him filled in on what sort of world he was in – and why it was nearly impossible to ever return to where he came from. This was, for all extents and purposes, his new home – and as such, he had to learn to adjust and Gabriel was more than happy to help with that. It wasn't just clothes – the archangel had actually helped him secure an identity – complete with a past and an education, and if he wanted to get a job, Gabriel said he could help with that too.

He was trapped. He was trapped in a world where the world wasn't going to descend into the madness that had overtaken his home, a home he'd likely never see again. A world where strangely enough, Zachariah wasn't a complete asshole, Gabriel ate candy in moderation and Michael was more concerned about humanity than ending the life of Lucifer. This place was the proverbial world down the rabbit hole. How he had come to be here, of all places, was still unexplained. Gabriel called it destiny – but hearing the Dean of his home tell him that destiny could be changed conflicted with that. If this was what his destiny had been changed to – he couldn't even begin to think what he was supposed to do now that he was here. 

“Cas, you awake?” Gabriel's voice called from the hallway.

“Yes. Did you need something?” He turned in the direction of the door.

“I was just checking – you want another cooking lesson or you just want to watch?” The archangel yawned. “Either way, you're making coffee.” 

“I will join you shortly.” He stood up and stuffed his feet into the sandals that he was using for slippers and opened the door. “I want to thank you again for teaching me all these things.”

“Well, you're an excellent student.” They went into the kitchen and Castiel started making the coffee automatically. “And I think it's good that we stick to the five ingredient cooking. Claire Robinson knows what she's talking about.”

“I believe all the people who are on that Food Network know what they are talking about – though some are rather frightening in their own way.” He set two mugs down next to the pot. 

The archangel nodded slowly. “I know; some of them should just shut up and cook already.” He went and filled one of the two mugs and then walked across to the pantry. “Now, for today I think I'll just have you watch me cook, since I'm not ready to have you graduate from the School of Claire to the School of Rachel.” 

He felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. He had to admit, the archangel might not be as crass as the one he left behind, but he still had his moments. “What is the difference?”

“The good Rachel Ray believes you can put together a meal in thirty minutes. Five ingredients or not, Claire Robinson does not.” He set a package of pancake batter on the counter. “I'm just glad you're such an eager student.”

Castiel took a slow sip of coffee before answering. “What else am I going to do with my time, Gabriel? Knit?”

“You're funny – and remember to watch the G word this afternoon. As far as everyone around here knows, I'm Jay.” He turned and went to the fridge.

**  
One thing that Liesel and her dad had in common was that they hated to be the center of attention any longer than they needed to be. By the third hour of the gathering, Lis was glad that both a lot of people had left – and those that remained were engaged in their own conversations. The off-white lace dress she had worn earlier was already set back into a box with tissue paper and as much as she loved it, she was very glad to have the dress off – it was close to a hundred years old and she'd been terrified of spilling something on it – or worse. She hoisted herself up onto one of the kitchen stools and pulled her plate of appetizers closer to her. 

“Would you like some company?” Michael Coulter slid into a chair across from her. 

“Sure, Grandpa.” She picked up her fork. “I thought you were talking to Mr. Jay.”

“Jay is not a baseball fan.” He smiled. “Now, I want to know if you've stopped this foolish notion that you are supposed to be a Rangers fan purely because you live in Austin.”

“Grandpa...” She let out a low whine. “I can't be an Orioles fan in front of my classmates; they'll kill me. But does it really matter which team I support as long as I hate the Yankees?” 

Michael picked up his fork and waggled it at her. “And the Red Sox young lady; they could be considered just as evil.” 

“I know.” She speared a piece of cheese with her fork. “Grandpa?”

“What is it, pumpkin?” He picked up one of the roll-up sandwiches from his plate and popped it in his mouth.

“Who's John Winchester?” She rubbed her nose. “Is that Uncle Adam and Uncle Sam's dad?”

Michael swallowed. “Yes, he's Sam and Adam's dad.” He frowned. “They haven't tried to get you to talk to him, have they?” There was an edge to the man's voice that scared Liesel.

“No.” She shook her head. “I just – I've heard them talk about him and how he wants to talk to Dad. Dad doesn't want to talk to him.”

“John Winchester gave up the right to speak to your father.” Michael kept his voice even. “If either of your uncles ever suggest you speak to him, refuse.”

“I will.” She looked down at her plate. “But... what if he's the one who's been calling our house and hanging up?”

“Who's been calling you and hanging up?” A new voice caused them both to turn.

“No one, Mr. Novak.” Michael recovered first. “Had a bit much of the talk in the other room?”

He nodded and took the seat at the head of the island. “I'm not familiar with the book Dean and Elisa were discussing.” He turned to Liesel. “I don't suppose you can tell me what _The Hunger Games_ is about.” 

Liesel had to bite back a laugh. “I'm not allowed to read that! I'm not even allowed to read _Harry Potter!”_

“This summer you can.” Michael stated, picking up another rolled sandwich. “Perhaps Mr. Novak can read _The Hunger Games_ at the same time.”

“From what I have gathered, I do not believe I would enjoy those books.” He appeared to be about to speak again when he suddenly gripped the counter tightly, his face twisted in pain.

“Mr. Cas?” Liesel said, frowning. “Is something...”

“Get... back...” he said between gritted teeth. “Close.... eyes....”

“Liesel, what's going on?” Michael stood up and was about to set a hand on Castiel when the room was filled with a bright light. He squeezed his eyes shut and reached out and grabbed a handful of cotton fabric, and then felt his granddaughter's arms wrap around him in a hug. He felt something rain down on the pair of them and he was fairly sure the light-bulbs had shattered. His ears stung for a moment and then the light receded. He blinked a few times and saw that the room was now littered in broken glass. He felt the girl release her hold on him and stand up.

“Mr. Cas, are you okay?” She saw that the man looked different somehow, more – bright – if that made any sense.

“I feel better.” Castiel replied and turned as the sound of running feet came into the kitchen. 

“What was that?” Dean was rubbing his ears. 

Castiel tried to sit up and promptly found himself flat on the floor again. “I am not entirely sure.”

“I know.” Jay took a deep breath. “Cas, I'll do the explaining – I think we best you get you some place where you can sleep.” 

Dean came over, picked his daughter up out of the mass of broken glass and china and set her in the hallway next to his mother. “Go upstairs and I'll come talk to you in a few minutes, okay?”

“Okay.” She stepped past her grandma and hurried up the stairs, but remained at the top, peering down over the banister into the hallway.

 _“What happened?”_ Elisa said to her husband, who was stepping out of the mess in the kitchen. 

Michael pulled off his hearing aides and rubbed his ears before responding. _“I don't know. Whatever it was, I think it killed the batteries in my hearing aides.”_

Gabriel and Dean went over to Castiel, who had passed out. “Let's get him upstairs and then we'll talk.”

“You know what happened?” Dean was utterly confounded that his best friend showed no surprise towards what was going on. 

“I have a pretty good idea, yes.” They hefted the unconscious Castiel up and carried him from the room. “I had a feeling something like this was going to happen soon.”

Dean nodded but didn't reply as they went upstairs and set Castiel in the room he had been using since he came here. He did see Liesel duck into her room almost as soon as she saw them on the stairs but decided to let it go – curiosity was a standard trait in this family. After taking off the angel's shoes and socks, he turned to his friend. “Do you think we should have Liesel watch him? Just in case?”

“I don't see how that could hurt. I'm going to go get her a fresh plate of food – I think her old one is currently covered in glass.” He paused in the doorway and turned to him. “She wasn't cut, was she?”

“I don't think so.” He went out into the hallway and over to his daughter's room. He knocked on the door-frame once and looked in. “Lis?”

The girl looked up from where she was sitting in her rocking chair. “Yes, Dad?”

“I'm going to have you sit in the room with Mr. Cas, just in case – I don't think anything will happen, but it's just to make sure he's sleeping comfortably.”

“Okay.” She got up and picked up the book that was lying on her bed. “Is Grandpa all right? He made a face like he was in pain.”

“I think that was from his hearing aides.” He ruffled her hair as she passed him in the doorway. 

*

Gabriel breathed a sigh of relief after he left Castiel's room with Liesel settled in front of a standing tray with a fresh plate of food, a glass of lemonade and a book. He knew the little girl well enough that she'd be fine for at least an hour. And an hour was just enough to scratch the surface. He came into the kitchen where Elisa was sweeping up the broken china, a look of dismay on her face. “Well, first things first...” He snapped his fingers. The shattered bulbs and the mess in the room instantly fixed themselves. 

Elisa dropped the broom and backed away from it, shocked. 

Dean, who'd been holding the dustpan, wheeled around towards the direction of the doorway. “How did you do that?”

“I'm an archangel.” He said it flatly and motioned to the table where Michael was already sitting, still rubbing his ears. “Perhaps it would be best if you sat down.” 

Dean led his mother over to the kitchen table and helped her sit, leaving the fourth seat for Jay – he was still trying to comprehend the fact that his best friend had just stated he was an archangel. “I take it this is going to be extremely complicated.”

Elisa set a hand on her son's arm to draw his attention and then signed to him, _“Let the angel tell his story. I think complicated is standard in this family.”_

Dean nodded. _“True.”_ He turned to Michael. _“Dad, are you okay?”_

 _“I'm fine.”_ He cleared his throat and turned to Jay. “Please continue.”

 _“Thank you.”_ Gabriel managed a weak smile before beginning to sign again. _“Did you tell them Castiel was an angel while I was gone?”_

 _“No.”_ Dean gave him a look.

 _“Castiel is an angel too?”_ Elisa hit her hand on the table for emphasis. _“How could an angel pass out?”_

 _“He's a recovering angel. He's been sick for a while.”_ Gabriel made a placating gesture and glanced at Michael, who had set a hand on his wife's arm. _“What happened a few minutes ago was that his angelic powers went from about a fourth full to a half. Unfortunately, he hadn't had that much power at his command in a while, so it was – for lack of a better term, a knee-jerk.”_

 _“Could something like that happen again?”_ Dean's face suddenly looked alarmed and he made a motion to rise.

 _“It won't. The fact that Castiel is resting is a good thing. I kept hoping that the surge would happen at my place rather than here – but I'm afraid that my friend has very lousy timing.”_ He sighed. _“I first need to tell you what happened here – so you can understand what happened where Cas came from that brought him to this time and place.”_

**  
John sat quietly in the front seat of the Impala, staring across the street at the house he had sworn up and down he would never return to. There it stood, fresh and as well cared for as the day he and Mary moved into forty-seven Ash Court. The roof was new; it was no longer shingle but black steel made to look like tile. The lawn had been mowed that day – he'd seen the neighbor boy cross the drive with the riding mower and take care of both his and the house's lawns over the course of two hours. The cedar bushes were gone and replaced with knock-out roses. He only knew the name of the flowers because Kate was so fond of them and had lamented the fact that Windom was too far north to grow crepe myrtles. There was one of those too, on the corner, where he remembered one of those pear trees being – no doubt a few infamous Kansas thunderstorms had taken that tree out years ago. The massive elm tree was gone too – he'd always hated it and was glad to see it go.

What really surprised him were the current occupants of his old house – four college age girls who no doubt went to KU here in town, saving some money by living off campus. He'd seen all four cars pull into the drive; the first two had snagged spots in the garage. “Best get out of here before someone asks what I'm doing.” He started up the engine and drove away. He'd come back tomorrow, when the girls were in class and people were at work. 

*  
Castiel didn't let on how relieved he was to be back in his room here at Dean's home. Something had delivered a massive boost to his Grace and at the same time, slowed down his physical self. If he had been in true form, it would have been unlikely to affect him – but he was essentially an angel trapped in a human body. If he abandoned it, his vessel would incinerate instantly as Jimmy Novak no longer shared this body with him and the odds of finding another vessel in this world? That was a task that was next to impossible. 

He turned over as he heard footsteps come into the room and through his half opened eyes, he saw Dean pick up a sleeping Liesel and walk out of the room. The clock next to the bed said it was after nine. How long had the little girl been in the room with him? He lifted himself into a sit just as Dean came back into the room.

“How are you feeling?” He sat down in the chair previously occupied by his daughter.

The angel rubbed his eyes, frowning, before signing his response. _“Dizzy.”_

“I can understand that. Hungry?” Dean settled back into his seat as Cas leaned back against the headboard. 

“I'm fine.” He suddenly noticed something in the man's face. “Gabriel told you everything, didn't he?”

“Most of it. I made him start to leave out a lot of details when he mentioned the Dean in your world going to Hell.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “My mom didn't take that very well.”

“I don't suppose anyone would.” He took a breath. “I am sorry about the mess in the kitchen.”

“It's all right.” Dean shook his head. “Gabriel cleared it up.”

“I suspected he would.” He sighed. “Did he leave?”

“Yes. He said he'd bring your stuff by in the morning.” He stood up and moved the chair closer to the bed. “I am sorry that you are stuck here... in this reality.”

“I don't think that's necessary.” He titled his head to the side, studying the man. “Although even if I could return to my home, it would not benefit either of us.” 

“Are you referring to the soul-grace bond thing?” Dean frowned. “Is that the reason for my near constant headache until earlier today?”

“It is highly likely. I have not felt well myself.” He flexed his hands involuntarily. “If I can break off the bond I have with the other Dean, we should be able to have distance between us without either of us, more so you, becoming ill.”

“Will that require you blowing up the house?” Dean hated to be sarcastic, but if there was a danger – he wanted people he cared about to be as far away from it as possible.

“No.” He smirked slightly. “You just sounded like someone I used to know.” He felt his shoulders slump. “Though I would not be able to sever the connection until my Grace is stronger. The earliest would most likely be sometime in June.” 

“Well, I won't be kicking you out.” He looked down at his hands, his fingers tracing the band of gold on the left one. “I can't be more than a friend, Castiel. I know that it's...” He stopped talking when the angel suddenly took both of his hands in his, forcing him to look up.

“I believe friends is a good place as any to start.” He almost smiled at the slight flush to Dean's cheeks. “Although, what I believe I am in most need of – is something more like a brother.” 

“Isn't Gabriel your brother?” Dean wasn't used to someone holding his hands – and oddly enough, he didn't feel alarmed that his best method for communicating with the world was currently restrained.

“Technically. I am not the Castiel he knew, nor is he much like the Gabriel I left behind.” He frowned. “I believe, to put it in pop culture terms, I am no Chuck Norris and he is no Willy Wonka.”

Dean pulled his hands back to cover his face as he laughed. “Well, whether or not you're Chuck Norris has yet to be determined. The fact you fell out of the sky and didn't break your back is a pretty good start.”

“You are not amusing.” He frowned. “Though I believe it would help matters if I knew who, exactly, Chuck Norris and Willy Wonka are.” 

In response, Dean kept laughing.

***

Mary had recognized the Impala on the street the other day. She couldn't believe John still had the damn thing. She'd hated it almost the moment he showed up with it instead of that Volkswagen bus she'd told him would be a better car. Her idea had been for the two of them to run off in the crazy thing – she'd get away from hunting, he'd get away from that auto place and they could start all over again. Just the two of them at first – then settling down far from the Kansas prairie – maybe in one of those abandoned churches out in Wyoming that hunters talked about taking up residence in from time to time.

Instead John showed up with that black behemoth of a vehicle that took her forever to like, even just a little. It did get around in the snow, which was good – considering how she'd seen those buses careen around on wintery roads like they were a fun house ride. Then there was the car-seat factor. John hadn't been too keen on those either – then Dean had come into this world on the tail end of a blizzard that dumped almost three feet of snow on Lawrence. The idea of Mary holding onto the baby while he drove suddenly terrified him – and for almost four years, everything was wonderful. 

Then Sam was born. Mary never played favorites in the six months that followed until her death. True, Sammy had needed more time than Dean did, but that was because Sam was a baby. John had made the distinction almost right away. The first time she found bruises on her eldest, she'd been livid. After cooling off for a few weeks, John returned from his blow up contrite and humbled. She never found another mark on her baby boy after that. But she knew, she knew as soon as she was gone John's temper would get the better of him. 

And Dean, her oldest baby, would know his father's wrath for no reason. 

When she learned that John had abandoned Dean when he was nine, she was conflicted. As angry as it made her that Dean had been cast aside, she knew that John couldn't hurt him anymore.

What then, was John doing here? Couldn't he stay wherever he lived with that _woman_ as she called Kate Milligan in her mind. She didn't care that John remarried – what she did care about was the fact that that _woman_ had gotten to do what she didn't. Be Sammy's mother. She never once envied Elisa Coulter. Dean had deserved a mom like Elisa – she'd never met her and she liked the woman. Kate she despised to some extent. 

She wondered where the hell John had stashed Sam the night he fucked Kate Milligan and got her knocked up with Adam. 

Mary knew what was keeping her here – it was her own rage at John. 

She drifted, invisible, down the upstairs hallway; all of the girls had already left save Moria, who didn't have a class until this afternoon. She was about to head down to the basement to check the hot water heater when she heard that familiar rumble of engine she had tried so desperately to forget. She went to the nearest window – looking down from Dean's old room as the Impala came to across the street – where the Langfords used to live until Craig retired and the two of them moved somewhere – probably Arizona given that the couple loved the heat but hated the beach. 

Instantly, she went back to Moria's room and then did the one thing she had sworn she'd never do. She jumped into the girl's body. Panic set in for a minute as she adjusted herself, whispering softly to the girl to not be afraid, that it would be fine, it would only be for a few minutes. 

Walking for the first time in physical form in nearly thirty years was a little disconcerting, but as she came to the door, she picked up the softball bat from where it was leaning against the wall. Damned if she was going to face John unarmed. She had gotten halfway down the hall when she heard the kitchen door swing open. Panic rose in Moria again that Mary quickly subdued. Knowledge of where all the creaks were in the house greatly helped as she made her way silently down the stairs. 

John was standing there, bold as anything, his back to her as he looked over the bookshelves that were against the far wall next to the fireplace. What was he expecting, to come in and find the Winchester family pictures whole along with more photo albums and the boys' toys? She refused to give into her total rage and just start beating him to a pulp. She tightened her grip on the bat and then spoke in Moria's voice. _“John.”_

John whipped around just in time to see a bat swinging through the air and he raised his arm to catch it, only to have it slam into his fingers. “What the fuck?!” He cradled his arm against his body as she swung again, not to harm, but to knock his legs out from under him, sending him to the floor. 

“What are you doing in my house?” she growled, keeping her weapon trained on him. 

“I don't...” He backed away sitting up, slightly. “I think I have the wrong house...”

 _“Liar!”_ She swung the bat with just enough force against his lower leg to discourage him from trying to move away. “Why did you come back here, John?”

“I...” His face suddenly went white. He was scared, Mary could tell. Good. He should be downright fucking terrified right now. _“Mary?”_

“Caught on, have you?” She held the bat right in front of his face. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn't smash your face in.” 

“The fact that the girl you're wearing couldn't get away with it,” John spat, that old angry look she hated showing up again.

“You broke in, John. She can state you were an intruder and it was self defense.” Mary glared at him. “Just what do you think you're doing here?”

“I don't know.” He said it honestly, but Mary didn't care an iota. 

“That's a pretty dumb thing to say.” She anticipated his movement to grab the bat and stepped back, swinging it again and catching his already injured hand. “You shouldn't have come back here.”

John had managed to get to a sit, looking up at the girl who, if he was standing, would be half a foot shorter than him. “I had to.”

“No, you didn't.” Mary tightened her grip on her weapon. “If you had to, you'd know why you came back. Did you come here expecting to see the house still a burned out shell? That somehow, time would have just frozen this home so it'd look the same way it did on that November night? The same way you thought Dean would still be in that foster home?”

If it were possible, John might have gone whiter. “You... how did you know about that?”

“Dean told me.” she snarled. “I found out what happened, John – do you remember what I told you the _first_ time I found bruises on my baby?”

“Mary... I hate to point out the fact that you really can't carry out that threat anymore.” His face got a hint of confidence back.

“Do you have any idea how arrogant you just sounded?” She was about to raise the bat and bring it down when John swept his foot and knocked her to the floor. The bat clattered away just as Moria hit the floor. 

“Shut up!” He kicked at her once and the girl rolled away, scrambling back, her face ashen. 

“I... don't hurt me.” Her voice cracked. “I.. what...”

“Don't play dumb with me.” John spat as he grabbed the bat.

Moria's face went pale and then her eyes widened in shock as a glass vase flew off the mantle and cracked against the back of the man's head, sending him to the floor, unconscious. “Oh... oh crap...” She fumbled for her cell in her back pocket, her heart racing. She managed to stay steady enough to dial 911. Her heart still hammering in her chest, she almost screamed in relief when someone picked up her call.

“911, what is your emergency?” The man's voice was calm and collected.

“Yes. I uh... I knocked an intruder unconscious in my house. I... need help.” She backed further away from John's body, swallowing hard. “I'm at forty-seven Ash Court.” 

“I'm sending a patrol right now.” His voice was still calm. “What's your name?”

“Moria Bradstone – I'm a student at KU.” She hugged herself, praying the man – John – would stay out cold until the cops got here.

“All right, Moria, do you know who the intruder is?” 

“No, I've never seen him before in my life.” She sniffled. “I – can I go outside? I'd feel safer outside.”

“Is there anyone else in the house with you?” It was almost unnerving, how calm the man's voice was.

“No, my roommates are in class.” She had managed to get to the front door, her hand fumbling for the lock. “I'm going outside.”

“All right, nice and easy. You said you hit him?” 

“Uh huh. With a bat and a vase.” She almost let out a laugh when she said it – it may have also been relief because she could hear a siren getting closer to her. “I shouldn't...”

“It's going to be all right, Moria,” the man said in response. “Everything is going to be just fine.”

**

Sam was halfway through a stack of depositions when his cell phone rang. He picked it up, not even looking at the screen and answered. “This is Sam.” 

“Sam?” It was Kate, who sounded borderline hysterical. “Your father's been arrested!”

“What?” he said in disbelief. “What for?”

“He was arrested for breaking and entering in Kansas! What the hell was he doing in Kansas?” 

“Mom, Mom just calm down, I'm sure it's a misunderstanding on the part of the police.” He took a deep breath. “Did he tell you what happened?”

“No. Just – Sam, he didn't start hunting again, did he?” 

“There's no way he'd go back to doing that.” He shook his head. “I didn't even know he was in Kansas; when did he leave?”

“I – he called Saturday afternoon, said he had something to take care of and he'd be back in a couple of days. I thought he might be going to New Orleans to surprise Adam or something.” She took a few deep breaths. “I – he didn't tell me you call you, but...”

“Did Dad say he was in Lawrence or somewhere else in Kansas?” Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. “Because I can sort of see him being in Lawrence, getting falling down drunk, and instead of going back to the motel, he went back... to the house.”

“What house?” Kate switched emotions the same way her son did – fast. 

“The house, Mom. The house where we... where Dad, Dean and I lived... with Mary.” He instantly hated calling his natural mother that – it wasn't like when he called Mom Kate in front of Dean. 

“Oh, _that_ house.” Relief now filled her voice, but it was still edged in panic. “I – I don't know if it's going to be serious or not.”

“Does he need me there?” Going to Kansas was one of the last things he wanted to do right now. He had a mountain of work that had deadlines and much as he loved his dad, he really didn't feel like jetting across four states because his father had gotten smashed and broke into their old house. 

“I don't know yet. He was going to call me back” She let out a breath. “If he needs help, can you go?”

Sam leaned against his desk, hunching over. “I don't know, Mom – but one of my friends from Stanford – he's at a firm in Kansas City; I could give him a call.” 

“Oh, would you?” Finally, genuine relief was in the woman's voice. “I will let you know if he needs help as soon as I know. This is just crazy.”

“I know, Mom.” Sam rubbed the back of his neck. “Look uh... I've got a few fires of my own to put out here so...”

“Of course,” Kate replied. “I know you're a regular worker bee – always were.”

He rolled his eyes. How old did she think he was, six? “I'll call you when I get home, that's just a few hours. You don't need me over in Windom, do you?”

“No, no I think I'll be fine. I'm just glad I have tonight off. I don't think I could focus – and...” 

“I know, Mom. I know.” He let out a long breath. “Look, I'll call you when I get off work, okay?”

“Okay. Take care, Sam. Don't work too hard,” she answered.

“You know me,” Sam said and hung up. No sooner had he put his phone down than a large stack of folders were dropped into his in-box. 

“Sorry.” The assistant gave him a sheepish look. “Did you need something for lunch? I'm getting ready to place the daily order.”

“It's Le Boxx on Mondays, right?” He thought for a moment. “I'll have the California Wrap,” he replied.

“Not a problem.” The girl scribbled his order down in a notebook and then glanced at his stack. “Uh – are you doing to need dinner too?” 

Sam flinched as another lackey dropped another pile of folders on top of the first. “I'll let you know around three this afternoon.” 

“Sure.” She turned and headed up the isle.

He sorted through his in-box until he reached the start of the stack he was working on before Kate called and set it on the desk. “One file at a time Sam, – one file at a time.”

**  
To say she was overwhelmed was an understatement for Elisa. She had always believed in angels but never planned on meeting any until she was dead. As such, she wasn't quite sure what to make of the fact that Gabriel – the Gabriel as she kept reminding herself, had been right in front of her for years and now there was a second one, Castiel. As for the full reason of why they were here, she didn't quite know – but was glad that they were. She checked the guest room one last time to make sure she hadn't forgotten to pack anything and then headed downstairs. Her husband was in the kitchen, looking over some papers. She tapped the table, smiling when he looked up. _“Double checking everything?”_

 _“Yes.”_ He nodded as she sat down across from him. _“As much as I hate to leave our friends in Maryland, this is really much better. Though I'm starting to think we should have told Dean before we went through with this.'_

 _“We didn't know if I had the job yet; it'd be awful to tell them and have Liesel get her hopes up only to see them crushed.”_ She let out a breath. _“I also didn't want to disappoint Dean. You know he hates the fact that we live so far away at times.”_

 _“Well, we won't be too far away for much longer. Across town is much closer than across several states.”_ He rubbed his ear again. _“It's a shame we won't be here for Mother's Day.”_

 _“We'll be here for Lis's birthday, that's more important.”_ She glanced at her watch. _“They should be home soon.”_

 _“I know. Is Castiel still in the other room looking at photo albums?”_ Michael stacked a few of the documents into a folder. _“Though I am starting to think we should have at least mentioned the fact that we're moving to Austin to Dean. You know how much he hates surprises.”_

 _“True.”_ She looked over her shoulder towards the family room, where she could just see Castiel sitting on the couch, a stack of albums on the table next to him. _“I do feel sorry for him – not being able to go home.”_

 _“It didn't sound much like a home.”_ Michael rested his hands on the table for a moment before continuing. _“But it is still hard to leave everything you've ever known.”_

 _“Sort of like what we're doing.”_ She sat back as she saw Castiel shut the book he was looking at and head for the kitchen. _“How are you feeling today?”_

 _“I'm fine.”_ Castiel replied and sat down at the table, frowning at the few scattered pieces of paper. _“I'm not interrupting something, am I?”_

 _“Not at all.”_ Elisa smiled at him and then caught a look on Michael's face that caused her to turn to the doorway leading to the laundry room and the garage. 

Dean came into the kitchen, along with Liesel, both of them carrying cloth grocery bags. Dean set his bags down, took the one that his daughter was carrying and set it on the counter with the others. _“There's two more bags to grab out of the car. I'll be right back.”_

Liesel set her backpack on one of the island stools and then went into the small powder room to wash her hands. When she came back, she immediately climbed up onto an unoccupied stool and started emptying the bags. She finally turned when Castiel cleared his throat. “Is something wrong?”

“No.” Castiel went across the room as Dean came back into the room and took the heavier of the two bags from him. “We weren't supposed to start working on dinner, were we?” This he directed at Dean. 

“We're ordering pizza tonight.” Dean replied. “You do eat pizza, correct?”

“Provided there is no hamburger. I believe ground beef is the one food I do not care to eat again.” He set the bag down with the others. 

Elisa got up from the table and started putting the containers of yogurt that Liesel had unpacked into the fridge. _“That's not a problem. We'd all rather have pepperoni or sausage.”_

Michael joined the group at the island as they finished emptying the bags and Dean took his mother's place in putting items into the fridge. “I have something to say.” 

Dean shut the freezer door and turned around to lean against it. “What is it Dad?” He watched his parents exchange glances.

“Well, we didn't want to say anything until we knew for sure. Your mom has been offered the job of assistant principal... at Kilbridge.” He gave his wife a hug. “And since I'm retiring at the end of June, we've decided to move to Austin.” 

Liesel covered her mouth in shock, but her hands couldn't hide the grin behind it. 

“You're going to move here?” Dean gave his parents a look of disbelief. “Why didn't you mention any of this earlier?”

 _“We didn't want to say anything until we knew for certain I had the job. We didn't want you two getting your hopes up.”_ Elisa beamed. _“We've been looking at houses while you two were at work and school.”_ Liesel jumped off of her chair and hugged her grandmother.

“I can't believe it!” She was still grinning like mad. 

“That's wonderful.” Dean came over and joined the hug. “I suppose the next question I have is, have you found a house?”

**  
John Winchester spent thirty-six hours in the county lockup before he was released. As he shrugged into his old leather jacket, he winced in pain. Mary had broken his wrist with the bat – and really, he'd been lucky she hadn't gotten more swings in because it was highly likely that she could have broken his back if she'd gotten into a grove. He wasn't in the mood to come back here and try and find out more. He might as well pack a body bag in his duffel if he was going to do that.

He was escorted out to the Impala by an officer who seemed less than thrilled with his assignment. “It's a long drive back to Minnesota, Mr. Winchester.”

“I'll be fine.” He held his broken wrist and turned to face the man. “I've had much worse.”

“You're lucky they're not pressing charges,” he replied and handed the keys to the car to him.

“I know that.” He took the keys. “How long do I have to pay the fine again?”

“Six months. The probation lasts three years.” He gave John a look. “Unless you get arrested for something else, then it's upped to ten.”

“I intend to keep my nose clean.” John unlocked the door of his car. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” He stepped back and let John get into the car. “Have a safe journey home.”

“I'll try.” He looked up for a moment. “The girl – she's okay, isn't she?”

“A little shaken, but she should be fine.” He stepped back. “Good day, Mr. Winchester.” 

“Yeah.” John shut the door, wincing at the groan it made – he was going to fix that eventually and headed for the interstate. He turned on the air and heard that familiar rattle under the hood. He'd get to the bottom of _that_ noise one of these days too. 

*  
“Mary.” The voice was quiet but firm. “Mary, it's time to go.” 

Mary peered around the corner of the kitchen, looking into the family room and blinked in surprise. “You're a...”

Gabriel smiled. “I think it's time you got to go home.” 

“What if John comes back?” She took a hesitant step towards him, not quite believing that an angel, of all things, had come to take her from the house. 

“He won't. I'll make sure of that.” He held out his hand. “You ready to go?” 

She took it, and for the first time in years, a feeling of safety and warmth filled her. “Who's going to protect the girls who live here?”

“I've got that covered too.” He put an arm around her shoulders and they faded from the house on Ash Court.


	5. Chapter 5

Adam had tried, unsuccessfully, to explain to his finance, Kelly, why Dean and Liesel couldn't come to their wedding. He didn't know how to make her understand that one, he didn't think that John and Dean should be in the same state, let alone the same room at the same time, and two, Dean would sooner pull his own eyes out than let John be near Liesel. He didn't think his dad posed any real danger to the girl, it was more the concept. Frankly, after Sam told him what their dad had done to Dean, Adam rather wished he could _not_ invite his father instead – but his mother remained in the dark about the whole abuse thing and really, the brothers agreed that she was better off not knowing. Cowardly, sure – but as John had never laid a hand on him or Sam, it was highly unlikely his mom would believe them. 

Adam ran his fingers through his hair as he came into the kitchen where Kelly was busy making another wedding related list. “Morning,” he said to her as he went over to the far counter to get himself a mug of coffee.

“Morning,” she replied, taking a sip from her own cup. “How did you sleep?”

“Not bad. I only have a few classes this morning, so I'm going to stop by the store on the way home so we'll have that out of the way for the week.” He sat down at the table, and after taking a drink of coffee, pulled an orange out of the fruit basket and started to peel it.

“Sounds great.” She marked her place and shut the notebook with a slap. “I've been thinking...”

“That's always dangerous,” he interjected.

“Hey!” This made Adam grin – indignation and anger always made Kelly's Southern accent go from light to deep. 

“Sorry, but you pretty much walked into that one.” He split the orange open. “I'm sorry, you were saying?”

“Right. I was thinking about how you keep telling me we can't invite your brother Dean.” She took a sip of coffee. “It doesn't seem right; he is your brother, after all.”

“I know, Kelly – but trust me, it's a very bad idea. I want to invite him too, but the last time Dean and Dad were in the same place Dean nearly broke my father's nose. Inviting him will not turn out well for anyone.” He started to segment out the orange.

“I just think...”

“Look, Dean will understand. I'm going to have a talk with him and he's going to agree with me. It'll be fine.”

“He's family.” The end of that sentence implied to Adam just how little family there was on his father's side – all of his Winchester relations were in touch with Dean – and almost none of them talked to his Dad. Yet another point of contention to bring up. If it hadn't been for Dean, Adam and Sam wouldn't even know their Winchester cousins. 

“I know that. He's my big brother and I love him, but putting him in the same room...” He took a drink of coffee.

“Your dad can't hurt him anymore, he knows that.” Kelly was starting to sound desperate.

“Dean doesn't want my dad near Liesel. If it was just him, alone, I can see it working – but Dean and Liesel are sort of a package deal. I mean if we were going full formal and not inviting kids, I can see how it might work, but we're not. I've already accepted the fact that he won't be there.” He picked up an orange segment and ate it.

“Well, hell Adam... I know he won't come, but what is the harm in at least sending an invitation to him?” She wrapped her hands around her mug, biting her bottom lip.

“You're forgetting Liesel will most likely see it – and she won't understand why they won't be going – and then she'll be disappointed, and she's got enough problems for a kid as it is.” He ate a few more pieces of the orange.

“Fine – could we possibly set the date for a time when we know they won't be able to come? At least then there's a reason she can see that they can't come to the wedding, rather than the real one.” She took a slow sip from her mug. “I just wish there was a way to make everyone happy.”

“I don't think that's possible.” He pulled a napkin from the basket on the table and rubbed his fingers with it. “I'm going to talk with Dean tonight, and I know he'll understand. When we have a party down here for all the people who can't attend the wedding because of their complications or our budget, we'll definitely invite the two of them.” He took a breath. “I'm starting to get why Sam says when he gets married, he's going to elope.”

“Well, Sam is a lot closer to Dean than you are.” Kelly stole a segment of orange. “But I still wish they could come.” 

“I know.” He picked up the last piece of the fruit. “I wish they could come too.”

**

Liesel was thrilled that her grandparents were moving to Austin. The idea of being able to see them at least every other a week was way, way better than twice a year. True, it'd only emphasize the fact that she was the only person in her family who wasn't deaf, but having family close would be wonderful. She envied her classmates who had grandparents who didn't live in another state because they saw them all the time. Somehow, in her mind, Grandma and Grandpa being in Austin equaled more time spent with family and less time of Mr. Jay watching her. 

A loud bang from across the room snapped her from her thoughts and returned her focus to cleaning her desk – not that it needed it. Her desk was famous for being the one that was always clean. 

The classroom was festooned with paper flowers, balloons and artwork and Liesel was doing her best not to let all of this get to her feelings. She knew her dad was going to be here and as much as she loved her dad, sometimes she felt it just wasn't the same. This was the first time there was a serious amount of work put into Mother's Day at school and all of this celebration just seemed to emphasize the fact that she didn't have her mom with her anymore.

Well, one thing Liesel knew she _didn't_ want was a new mom. Liesel had heard it from a couple of kids and even a few adults – she'd actually been _asked_ if she would want a new mommy. What the heck was a 'new mommy' anyway? She had a perfectly good mom who just happened to live in Heaven instead of in the house with her and Dad. And honestly, considering she had the best dad of all time, a new mommy was out of the question. Some people just needed to mind their own business. Moms weren't like the goldfish at the pet store – just because her mom was dead didn't mean she wanted a new one. 

She went up to the front of the room and tossed the paper towel she had been using to clean off her desk into the trash can and picked up a place-mat from the pile on her teacher's desk. Several moms had already started filing into the classroom – and she watched as her classmates went up to greet them, some of them looking embarrassed as their moms hugged them. She straightened the second chair at her desk, watching the door – and that's when she heard it.

“I don't know what Liesel's waiting for.” Someone behind her said it – and it took all her resolve not to turn around and see who it was. It was a boy – either Jack Fitzgerald or Harper Wessling – the two of them sounded alike.

“She looks so stupid.” _That_ was Kara Ferguson. A second later, that same girl raced past Liesel's desk to hug the woman who had just come in the door. “Hi, Mommy!”

Liesel kept her hand steady as she reached into her desk and pulled out the small package of tissues that she kept there. Why wasn't her dad here yet? Did he have to stay at work longer? She knew he had one surgery this morning, but that was it – he was supposed to be here! She rubbed her nose as Kara walked by her desk and she saw the girl stick her tongue out. Kara's mother smelled like the perfume counter of a department store – so sweet it was almost sickening. She coughed and blew her nose, then went to throw her tissue away. The room was full of chatter now; most of the moms were there. She had to bite her lip as she went back to her desk to keep herself from crying. 

If there hadn't been a math test this morning, Liesel would have begged her dad to let her stay home from school. She saw a wooden box out of the corner of her eye and she looked up and instantly, she smiled. 

_“Sorry I'm a little late. Traffic.”_ Her father grinned at her. _“I also had to stop by the bank and pick something up.”_ He set a hand on the box and then sat down in the empty chair. He took a good look at her face and then his expression changed. _“You weren't crying, were you?”_

 _“I was scared you weren't going to be here.”_ She looked ashamed of herself and rubbed her nose. 

_“I'm sorry.”_ He held out the package of tissues to her. _“Or did someone say something nasty again?”_

Liesel was about to respond when Kara's voice reached her.

“What's wrong with her _dad?”_

Liesel clenched her hands into fists in an effort to control her temper. Her gaze shot over to the girl and her mother, only for an instant, but it was enough for her dad to see where the problem was. 

Dean straightened his shoulders before replying. _“You know what one of the best things about no one but us being able to speak ASL is?”_

 _“Let me guess...”_ A smile tugged at the corner of her lips. _“We don't have to worry about anyone eavesdropping?”_

 _“That – and with no one but us knowing what we're talking about, we can talk about anything and make them think we're talking about something else.”_ Dean shifted in his seat and set his hand on the box on the desk. _“You know what's in here, right?”_

 _“Mom's medals from Sydney and Atlanta,”_ she replied, her smile finally becoming more pronounced. _“I can't believe you went and got them out.”_

 _“Well, I figured that if the fact that your mom spends her time with angels and saints isn't impressive to your classmates – five Olympic medals should be.”_ He wrinkled his nose and took one of the tissues from his daughter's desk. _“I think some of the moms took baths in perfume before they came here. Is this a tea party or a black tie dinner?”_

 _“What's a black tie dinner?”_ Liesel gave him a questioning look. _“Have we ever been to one?”_

 _“No – but I've seen a few in the movies.”_ He saw the teacher move to the front of the classroom. _“You going to be my translator, Lis?”_

 _“Uh huh.”_ She straightened up and turned her focus on her teacher, shutting out the giggles coming from behind her. 

*  
Dean didn't take the wooden box back to the bank that afternoon – he put it on the list of things to do tomorrow. He sat down on his bed, running his fingers along the carved design, remembering the story Ignacia had told him about it. Armand, Ignacia's father, had made it for his daughter when she was a little older than Liesel – and told her it was for her Olympic medals that he was certain she'd win. He lifted the lid and looked down at the five medals (two from Atlanta, three from Sydney), still gleaming, resting on top of a folded Romanian flag. Two bronze, two silver, and one gold – and a faint floral scent drifted up from deep in the box he knew that there were preserved petals from several bouquets she'd received along with the medals.

He rang his finger along the single gold – Romania's team gold medal from Sydney – the games she said, on the day they met (unofficially) she'd see him at. But he hadn't gone to Sydney – some stupid ass judge had scored him lower than he should have on an event and it'd cost him a trip to Australia – he'd been named the second alternate, and he sat at home and watched his fellow teammates get the chalk and sweat beat out of them by Japan – which he expected, and frankly, didn't mind. It was the Russians, whom the US had defeated with ease at Worlds the year before, taking second place and the   
American Men not even placing in the medal round that got to him.

Dean ran his fingers through his hair, trying to will his thoughts away from darker places, but inevitably, just thinking about gymnastics was tossing fuel onto the fire of memories. The first time he'd ever seen Ignacia up close was after Individual Events at Worlds in '99; they'd both won the silver on the floor. To this day, he didn't know why he had held out his hand to help her onto the platform – but he did remember how small her hand looked in his – but they were similar in being covered in callouses and traces of chalk – hers from bars and his from rings. He even could remember the jolt in his chest when their fingers touched – and going back to Maryland had been hard. Ignacia was some impossible dream at that point; she lived in a world so far removed from his they might as well have been on different planets.

Then, somehow, they'd found each other two years later – in the West Branch of the Palo Alto public library. In the cookbooks – and the second his fingers brushed hers again when he handed her a book that had been on the top shelf, he'd known. He'd known that he could never let her go again. They overcame so much – a language barrier, a religion barrier (though Dean remained convinced that what had made Armand and Octavia Madgearu accept him as quickly as they did was the fact that he still went to church every week without his mother telling him), and everything should have been good – not perfect but at least good. The next seven years were just that.

And then Ignacia got sick – and things started falling apart. He'd been holding her hand when she slipped away from this Earth – they'd said good-bye in the same way they had met.

Castiel had been sitting in his room, half engrossed in a book, when Dean's emotions brushed against his Grace. He set the book down and went to the doorway of the master bedroom. He already knew that Liesel was asleep, and therefore, couldn't hear the broken, uneven, and rough sound of her father crying. He didn't even hesitate in going across the room, sitting down next to the man and pulling him into a tight embrace. 

He felt Dean grasp the front of his shirt, his whole body shaking with sobs. Castiel rubbed his back in slow, comforting circles, letting the man have his tears. There wasn't any way to make the pain go away – the angel knew that. He rested his head against Dean's, making small, soothing noises that even though he knew the man couldn't hear him, seemed right. He flexed his shoulders and let his wings, now almost completely healed, come out and he wrapped those around Dean as well. He paid no attention to the few feathers that fluttered to the ground around them. His Grace could feel the man's soul awash in grief he had been keeping back – as if a year's worth of repressing the emotion had broken free and was threatening to consume him. 

Dean tightened his grip on Castiel's shirt, hating himself for crying, hating himself for appearing so weak, hating himself for the fact that he had been so utterly helpless when Ignacia had died. That just broke other things in his mind – his fear he wasn't a good enough father, his worry he wouldn't be able to protect Liesel – it was just one thing after another.

The angel pressed a very light kiss on the top of the man's head, wondering how he could know two different Deans – but both had so much pain built up inside of them – and only one was willing to admit it. Finally, the man's grasp relaxed, and the rest of his body followed suit. 

Dean had cried himself to sleep.

Castiel let out a breath and gently laid him down on top of the covers, on the side of the bed that he knew was his normal side to sleep on and covered him with a thin knitted blanket from the foot of the bed. Once Dean was sleeping comfortably, he picked up the wooden box, shut it, and set it on the bedside table. He was about to leave the room again when he heard Dean whimper in his sleep. 

The angel sat back down on the bed, keeping one hand on the man's forehead. He might not be able to remove the overwhelming feelings of loss and grief from Dean, but one thing he could do right now was keep nightmares at bay. He leaned back against the headboard, smiling faintly when he heard rain start to patter against the windows and roof.

**  
Gabriel had left Castiel and the Coulters, knowing that the three of them would be perfectly fine and safe while he was gone. There were wards on both his and Dean's house, the hospital where Dean worked, and on Liesel's school – not that he worried about any demons slipping out of Hell any time soon – and as for regular run-of-the-mill monsters – his friends among the pagans were keeping them under control in return for staying off hunters' radar. He had it on good authority that several members of the Norse pantheon had an affinity for skin-walker meat these days. The animals he'd been taking care of were all healed and had been released back into the wild, save for the stray cat, which he'd found a home for with an old woman whose family all lived overseas.

He stretched his arms over his head and came into the kitchen of the loft apartment. “Smells like you've taken a cooking class or two.”

“Shut it,” the woman behind the stove said, poking at the bacon in the skillet. “I'm a pretty decent cook.”

“I know, I'm just giving you a hard time.” He came over, gave her a light kiss on the top of the head and slid into a stool. “So what have you been up to?”

“You mean other than the scheduled school visits and running the tamer parts of your information empire?” She chuckled and blushed faintly. “Okay, so I have taken a couple of cooking lessons here and there...” She looked up and pursed her lips. “Isn't this the part of this recurring conversation when you ask me to move to Austin, I refuse, and then we bicker over if we should have blueberry or chocolate chip pancakes?”

Gabriel smirked. “Well, Bela – I thought I'd stop asking a few times, see if that helps convince you.”

The woman shook her head. “It'd never work. Plus, aren't I supposed to be some sort of sainted author of religious young adult novels for girls?”

“You think all those teens would purchase those books if _my_ picture was on the back cover?” He got up and went to the pantry.

Bela put a few slices of bacon onto a waiting plate. “You really want me to answer that?”

“Well, I already know what you're going to say, so...” He got out the pancake mix and went over to the fridge. “Why don't you want to move to Austin?”

“It's too hot down there for me.” She laid a few more slices of bacon into the pan as he started mixing up the batter. “Why can't you move up here?” She turned and looked at him. “Or is you being in Austin part of some other super-secret angel work?”

“I like it down there – as for my job – that's going to change shortly.” He went back to the cupboard. “Chocolate chip, right?”

Bela whipped her head around to look at him. “You bring fresh blueberries with you and now you don't want them in pancakes?”

He opened the package and measured out a cup before adding it to the mixture. “The berries are for later.” Gabriel shrugged. “So Austin is out – and I am not a fan of being up here in New York – so what do you say we both compromise and go renovate an antebellum home in Kentucky?” He came over and joined her at the stove.

She snickered in response as she set a few more pieces of cooked bacon on the plate. “Can I have a pony?”

Gabriel looked her over. “You're a little tall for a pony, so would you mind if you got a horse instead?”

Bela gaped at him. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely.” He beamed. “You can have a few horses if you like – and I'm going to have a pack of retired greyhounds.” He looked the stove over. “I'll finish up breakfast – I think you have a book to read.”

She chuckled and went over to the table. “This is the final one about the Jewish girl, right?”

“Uh huh – the series our esteemed publishers at Simon & Schuster keep badgering us to let Hollywood take and make a film or two out of.” He started to heat up another pan. “And I keep refusing, of course.”

“What, have them make a movie in time to compete with _The Lost Hero_ and _The Last Sacrifice_ next year on Memorial Day weekend? No thank you.” Bela took a drink of coffee. “Now, put the first one up against the next Tom Cruise flick, and we might have something.”

“Point taken.” He shrugged. “I don't keep up on all the teen lit like you do. Is there a series with vampires that sparkle?”

She snorted into her mug. “Yeah, there is. It's some four-parter called _Twilight_. I met the author once – she said she couldn't understand why her books weren't popular. I didn't have the heart to tell her that having a werewolf soul-bond with a newborn in the last book was downright disgusting.” She shook her head. “Obviously, she never read _Tuck Everlasting.”_ She looked up. “It's like published fanfic.”

“I can think of worse stories.” He poured some of the batter into the pan. “And I've read a lot of them.”

“So out of curiosity, what is the worst book you've ever read?” She picked up the manuscript.

“The jury is still out on that.” He flipped the pancake in the air. “You haven't been having nightmares again, have you?”

“No, I think they've finally stopped.” She tucked one leg under her as she scanned the start of the story. “Gabe... if you're up here, who's watching the kid?”

“A friend.” He smiled. “A friend I thought I'd lost forever... and while he's not _exactly_ the same, he's got potential.”

“You know, I still don't know what's more confusing, you angels or the game of cricket – and that's saying something considering the fact that I'm British.”

Gabriel pulled a few more pieces of bacon from the pan and tossed the first batch of pancakes onto a plate. “I'm going with cricket, because I was there the day dirt was invented, and _I_ don't get that game. Curling, on the other hand...”

“I know, I know...” She grinned. “You going to save injured wild animals in Kentucky?”

“Constantly. I plan to have a barn just for them.” He went back to cooking breakfast.

**  
The Monday after Mother's Day was the first time Castiel was left alone in Dean's house. With the man at work and Liesel at school – and Gabriel who knew where – he found that he wasn't sure what to do in his solitude. He had already looked through most of the photograph albums, he had found books of little interest on the shelves – he only read fifty pages of _The Hunger Games_ before he decided the subject was far too appalling to continue. Films were also out of the question – he knew how to work the DVD player, thanks to Gabriel, but without the archangel there to explain parts he didn't understand, he didn't feel up to the task. 

So here he was, sitting in the kitchen, looking over another one of the cookbooks. Cooking seemed to be one of the things he was picking up with only a few problems. He frowned as he flipped through a book entitled _West Meets East_ that had notations in the margin that were written in Romanian. He had just found an index card shoved in the middle of the book with a recipe for mock apple pie (also written in Romanian) when he heard a rustle of wings and his head rose as he felt a presence he hadn't since before he stormed the gates of Hell. “Michael.”

“And here I was trying to sneak up on you,” the archangel replied, and a moment later, a young boy around ten years of age with shaggy black hair came in from the dining room. He was barefooted and scruffily dressed, but Michael's Grace shone as bright as a thousand suns. “I should spend more time with fledglings, less with warriors.” 

Castiel swallowed hard. “Why...” He frowned and tilted his head, “Forgive me for asking, but I was told that archangels of your caliber could only inhabit true vessels.”

“If this was the Apocalypse, yes. But as we're not there...” He went over to the fridge, took out a bottle of water, and came over to the island. “Rules are different.” 

“I don't under...” Michael held up a hand and he fell silent.

“There's a lot we don't tell your rank, Castiel.” He opened the bottle and took a drink. “As to where I got the vessel – well, if you'd been watching or listening to the news, you would have heard about the massive earthquake in Thailand that happened a little while ago.” Michael shrugged. “The young boy who used to be in this body is already in Heaven playing baseball with his friends. But I didn't come over here to discuss such matters.”

“Why are you here?” He frowned. “Am I...in some form of trouble?”

“You obviously have mistaken me for the Michael in your world, Castiel.” He sighed and rocked on his heels. “I suppose Gabriel had already told you that it is far too risky for us to return you to your home, correct?”

“Yes.” He swallowed. “Though what I am going to do here, I do not know.”

“Oh, I'm sure you can think of something.” Michael shrugged. “Though I suggest you stay out of teaching. Other angels have tried it, frustration gets to them all in the end. You seem to have a natural curiosity for cooking.”

Castiel straightened his shoulders, not sure if he should feel offended or not. “I'm only doing this because Gabriel is not here and Dean often comes home too tired to cook.”

“See, that right there? The fact that you're going to cook because you know Dean will be too tired to do it proves you give a damn. That is _exactly_ what I was expecting.” Michael tapped his fingers on the counter, taking another drink of water. “Dean thinks he's only known Gabriel a couple of years – but I put my brother on the task of watching him off and on for a while now. That's how Dean was able to be in plain sight for about three months and not get found.” He shrugged. “Not to mention...”

“Azazel never really gave two craps about him.” Castiel interjected.

“Exactly!” Michael smiled. “I understand that the Dean in your world shot the bastard.”

“Yes. With the Colt.” He felt his shoulders fall. “And then I made an error in the weapon's power that cost two women their lives.”

“You received false information, Castiel.” He shook his head. “I know that is little consolation, but it is the truth.”

He hung his head. “I feel like I should have known. I should have known it would not be so easy.”

“Nothing's easy.” Michael sighed. “I didn't come down here to discuss things that can't be changed. I came down to ask you if you want the job that Gabriel's been doing.”

“I don't think I'm one for saving wounded animals, Michael.” Castiel looked up, frowning. “Or are you referring to his job protecting Dean?”

“Not so much protecting as being the one thing he needs – something to keep him grounded. See, Zach and Daniel serve different functions in their jobs. Daniel's a sounding board who doesn't want the role of best friend or brother and Zachariah is an authority figure who encourages Sam to succeed. Gabriel's not going to stop being the best friend – any more than Ignacia's going to cease to be his soul-mate. What I'm asking you to do, Castiel – is to be the brother Dean didn't get to have.”

“He has brothers. Sam and Adam are his brothers,” he said flatly.

“And the Winchesters have divided loyalties –except with each other. The Dean and Sam in your world share a bond similar to the one that they have. The same bond that frustrated you so in your world shuts Dean out in this one.” He took another drink of water. “It's a lot to take in, I know...”

“I can do that.” He said it without thinking and found the truth in his words as he spoke. As connected to the Dean he pulled from Hell he was, the one here – seemed to need him more. It was in that moment he realized that Dean without Sam wasn't complete – despite the whole range of family he knew the man had, a brother was the one thing he didn't have. “Though I don't think it can be an instant sort of connection.”

“I know that.” Michael finished the water. “Your Grace is still around half full – perhaps a little over. In order to sever the link between you and your world early, you're going to have to go to holy ground. There's a church that's going to be torn down in Kansas City. I suggest you go there – just in case there's any aftershocks.”

“I'll do my best not to bring the building down.” His smile faltered. “I will worry about the friends I am leaving behind.”

“That's understandable.” He went and tossed the empty bottle into the recycle bin. “Do you have any questions?”

The angel straightened his shoulders, frowning. “Yes. Who is this Chuck Norris I keep being told the Castiel in this world was like, and do I want to be like him as well?”

**  
John signed the check for the payment for the damages his trip to Lawrence had cost him and then sealed the envelope. He had thought long and hard about what Mary had said to him. It was hard to cut Dean off completely from memory when the boy – funny that he still saw him as that despite the fact that Dean was an adult – was present in both Adam and Sam's lives. Although he had already learned from Adam that Dean was not going to be at or a part of the wedding – he felt it was better that way for everyone. 

John naturally agreed. 

Deep down, he never had expected any sort of reunion with Dean to go well. The damage had been too great, and John knew he had only himself to blame. He took out his keys and unlocked the small strong box he kept in his desk. He had told both Adam and Sam it was where the important papers were kept. The truth was, the important papers were in another box – at the bank. All those years ago, when he had gone to see if he could find Dean, the caseworker had made it plain to him – they had known about the abuse and they wouldn't tell him a damn thing – only that he was safe. He lifted the lid of the box and took a breath.

The first thing in the box was a copy of _Sports Illustrated_ dated July 1995 – and one of the headlines read 'One Year Until Atlanta: Gymnastics Outlook.' - the first time he'd seen the name 'Dean Coulter' in print – before Sam even found his brother. John had known – he'd just had to hear about a deaf boy named Dean with incredible accuracy and aim, and he'd known. The phenom who got cheated out of two Olympic berths not for scoring, he was certain – but because some asshole didn't want a deaf guy representing the United States. 

When really, a deaf kid showing up at the Olympics and kicking everyone's asses would have been the _perfect_ way to show the world that _anyone_ can achieve in this country. 

He set the magazine aside and looked down at the photographs that were underneath. He had purposely avoided watching that National Championship eleven years ago because he had known he couldn't stand it – couldn't keep a clear mind while he watched the son he'd deemed worthless prove him wrong. John had known long ago that if Dean did something with himself, none of the credit lay with him – unless it was letting him go and into that life, but even that had been a gamble. The CPS was full of tragic endings – and a deaf nine year old could have been one of them.

The photocopied newspaper clippings from bigger city sports pages he'd gotten at the library, the achievements of Dean Coulter, wunderkind of the gymnastics world – the one who'd bowed out after winning the National title – choosing to go out on top instead of waiting for something to force him out. The edition of Sports Illustrated when the American Men won the silver medal at Worlds – the magazine when he'd seen Dean smile in triumph at Nationals – and even some silly article from _People_ magazine on the 'match made by gymnastics' that was quite a stretch in talking about Dean and that tiny woman he'd married, Ignacia. Of course, one look at the woman's face, and he had a feeling she was just as tough and tenacious as Mary Campbell had been.

Part of him was screaming to just throw all of this out and forget – and the other part of him was begging not to let go. 

He shut the box, relocked it, and went out into the garage, where he opened the trunk of the Impala and then placed the box in the secret compartment that, once upon a time, held an arsenal. He put the box inside, closed the compartment and trunk and went back into the house – he'd find a way to not think about the box.

Eventually.

*  
“I can't believe you've had a girlfriend long enough to go on vacation with them,” Adam said over the top of his menu, grinning as his brother flushed.

“Say it a little louder, Adam; I don't think the people at the Thai place across the street heard you.” Sam took a drink of water, relieved that neither Kelly nor Becca were at the table at the moment. “This is all new to me, okay?”

“Okay.” He folded the menu and set it on the table before reaching for another piece of bread from the basket. “I think she's a nice girl. She's a little more... serious than most of the, um... flighty girlfriends you've had.”

Sam took a drink from his soda and shook his head. “She's serious until you get her talking about _Dr. Who._ Then it's like being right back with Jessica and her whole _Harry Potter_ thing.”

“Look who's talking Mister-Always-had-to-be-Goliath when we played _Gargoyles._ ” Adam snickered as he saw the two women coming back from the bathroom. “Don't worry, I won't rat you out.”

“You better not. I've still got the photos Mom took of you dressed as Little Lord Fauntleroy for Halloween when you were five.” Sam turned his attention back to his menu.

“Did we miss anything?” Kelly slid back into her chair at the same time Becca did. 

“Nothing important,” Sam replied and frowned. “Now the question is not what to have for dinner, but what can you have for dinner and still have room for dessert.”

“Just get the Shepherd’s Pie, and eat half of it,” Becca said, folding her hands over her menu. “And leave the calories for dessert – the Alfredo in this place has, like, two sticks of butter per serving.” She shuddered at the thought.

“Sounds like a plan.” He took a drink of water. 

“Did you tell your brother the good news?” Kelly asked Adam as she picked up her own water glass.

“Not yet.” Adam grinned. “I've been offered a better scholarship – one that pays for almost everything.” 

“Where?” Sam set his glass down. 

“The University of Kentucky.” His smile widened. “So it looks like Kelly and I are going to be moving to Lexington.” 

“Seriously?” A wide smile broke out on Sam's face. “That's awesome!” He shook his head. “When the hell did you get old enough to even start med school?”

“Oh, sometime after you took the LSAT and before you passed the bar,” Adam said with a retort.

**  
The tiles were broken, and the once beautiful stained glass was half shattered and all of the windows were boarded up. Most of the pews had been either carted off when the church closed its doors or stolen – and the air smelled of earth, stale incense, spent wax, and dust. Castiel made his way up the center isle – here he could catch the trace memories of weddings and happy couples and over-scented flowers from funerals. A church was supposed to be a hub of a community – and those that called this place a hub had sought their community elsewhere. He stood in the center of the building, the early summer sunlight filtering though the boards causing dust motes to dance in the air, casting him half in shadow, half in light.

The angel sighed softly and took several more steps forward until he was in the exact center of the building and closed his eyes, concentrating. The whispers of the church fell away and he let Grace stretch outward, feeling his arms lift and his hands spread, bringing a small smile to his face. He must appear to be an overgrown fledgling who had just discovered how to hide his wings, leaving him greater movement in his arms. He let his eyes change to their true form – in entering this state, he'd made himself vulnerable to attack, but with his eyes blazing with holy fire, a mere glance would deter anyone or anything that tried to harm him.

As soon as his gaze shifted from the physical one to a higher plane, the world seemed to white out completely save for two strands, one thin, like gossamer, the other thicker, like rope – but starting to fray. He reached out with his Grace and touched the glowing one gently, fearing it would snap with the lightest touch. In his mouth, he tasted sweet tea, sour-dough bread, beef broth, and an underline of mint. He smiled and then turned his attention to the other cord, which seemed to have weakened slightly in his inattention. He set his Grace upon it and was assaulted by the smell of gun oil, the taste of stale coffee and leather. Castiel felt his eyes open a little wider and he could see the Dean he pulled from Hell. 

He was in Bobby Singer's house – Sam, Adam, and the old hunter, who was walking no less, were in the library with Gabriel. The archangel seemed to be the only one who noticed his presence, and rather than say something to the rest of the assembly, looked straight at him and gave an ever so slight wave of the hand. It was safe to let go – the Winchesters would be fine – all three of them. Somehow, he knew the archangel would explain. 

Castiel pulled back with his Grace and away from the scene and fashioned part of his Grace into a blade – and with one swift motion, severed the link that held him bound to that other world. 

The reaction was swift and almost painful. One moment he'd been aware of the church, of the gossamer strand suddenly swelling to the size and strength of a steel cable while still looking delicate and then – the world seemed to rush by. Things finally righted themselves in his mind, and he found himself back in his room in Dean's house with no memory of how he got there.

“If you're going to make a habit of landing in the forsythia bushes, please let me know so I know whether or not I should prune them.” Dean's voice was full of jest, and it made the angel smile.

“That should be the last time.” He touched his forehead, wincing. “How long have I been asleep?”

“A few hours. Are you hungry?” Dean was sitting with his arms folded, his stern expression completely contradicted by the humor in his eyes.

“I think a little more rest is an order.” He let out a breath. “Did anyone see me fall?”

“Only Lis and I did – as far as I know. Then again, you didn't so much fall out of the sky as popped out of thin air a few feet above the bushes.” Dean stood. “I'll come and check on you before dinner – see if you feel like eating then.”

“Thank you.” He closed his eyes and let out a breath. “I suppose I managed to keep my wings in this time.”

“Yes.” Dean cleared his throat. “I'll let you rest.”

“I just need... a little time.” He coughed and pulled the pillow more fully under his chin. 

“I know,” the man replied and left the room. 

As soon as he heard Dean go downstairs, Castiel opened his eyes and just listened for a moment. This was his home now – maybe not this house, but he now lived in this reality – and he didn't know what would happen when Dean got older, what would happen to him? Would he be allowed into this place's Heaven? It'd be odd, knowing all the angels there by name, but they wouldn't be the same – just as he wouldn't be the same Castiel. 

And quite frankly – it would be interesting to see everyone he had always known in a different light. If Zachariah didn't have a stick up his ass in this world, there was no telling what Uriel was going to be like.

**

Liesel stepped out of church on the last day of school, already knowing that her dad wouldn't be there. He'd been unable to get out of a string of surgeries for the day – it was complicated, he'd said, and really, it wasn't like it was eighth grade graduation or anything. She scanned the crowd of parents waiting outside of cars and waving and caught sight of Castiel sitting on a bench near the small grotto on the boundary between the church and school. She ducked out of the crowd and crossed the parking lot. “Aren't you hot sitting out here?”

Castiel looked up and smiled. “Not really. It's rather pleasant.” He looked over her shoulder at the crowd filing out of the church. “I take it you had a good last day?”

“It was pretty good.” She sat down and set the large envelope containing her report card and a couple of awards down between them. “Is it true that Mr. Jay is moving to Kentucky, and he couldn't be here because he's looking at houses?”

“Yes.” He gave her a small smile. “I'm afraid you're going to be stuck with me instead.” 

“You say that like it's a bad thing.” She sighed. “I like Mr. Jay – and he's really nice, but you're really nice too.” 

“Thank you.” He picked up the envelope and frowned. “May I look in here?”

“I guess.” She made a face. “And I just want to say that the comment about me needing to not talk with my hands so much is _completely_ unfair.”

Castiel frowned. “I do not believe the woman who has been teaching you should be teaching. The fact that you tend to talk with your hands, which you have done for this entire conversation, is a completely involuntary action brought on by being raised by a hearing impaired parent.” 

“I already know Dad talked to the principal about the whole Mother's Day thing.” She frowned when she saw the angel scanning the parking lot again. “What?”

“It's nothing.” A tiny smile formed at the corner of his mouth. “Let's go home. I – I believe I would like to try cooking something, and I want your help.”

“Uh – I didn't think to ask but um... are we walking?” They stood up and she held onto Castiel's hand as they made their way up the grassy hillside. 

“Not all the way.” He held onto the envelope containing Liesel's report card in his other hand. “I believe your teacher may be either an Audist or a Surdophobic.”

“What does that mean?” They crossed from grass into the upper parking lot of the church. 

“She either hates people who are deaf or is scared of them.” He shook his head. “Both such things are foolish. Though considering what your father and grandparents have accomplished, I can understand some resentment.”

“That's a pretty stupid way to think,” Liesel replied as they came to the main street and started up the next hill. “Even though it's hard for me to be the hearing person among the deaf... well, the world would be pretty boring if we all looked, sounded and acted the same.”

“Humans are wonderful in that way – I always thought it was a shame that so many animals seemed to look exactly the same.” He looked behind them and after scanning the rest of the area, tightened his grip on Liesel's hand. “This might pinch a bit.”

“What?” The next moment she shook her head as they arrived in the park that was a few blocks from her house, about halfway between her home and the school. “How... what was that?”

“That is how an angel flies, Lis.” Castiel smiled down at her. “Are you all right?”

She rubbed her face in response. “It didn't so much pinch as it was... it was sort of dizzying.”

“I've been told it does that.” They started down the street. “I am just glad to be able to do it again.”


	6. Chapter 6

Dean had never been one for flying. Even after all the time he spent flying for gymnastic competitions, he still felt safest when his feet were on the ground. Right now, he and Liesel were somewhere over Romania. In a little while, they'd land in Bucharest and then take an hour train ride to the small town that Ignacia Madgearu Coulter had called home before she went to Deva to learn to be a gymnast. He had not been back to this place in eight years – his communication with his in-laws had been mostly letters, still sent the old-fashioned way since internet access was sketchy in this part of the world. He automatically took that to mean that cell phone service would be almost as shoddy. The phone conversations were six times a year – and the person Armand and Octavia Madgearu wanted to talk to was Liesel, not him. 

He glanced over at Castiel, who was sitting next to him and was traveling with the Coulters under the guise of friend and interpreter, as he spoke Romanian and American Sign Language fluently – Dean seriously doubted his in-laws were going to discover that Cas was fluent in pretty much _every_ language that currently did or ever had existed. He frowned at the look on the angel's face and tapped his arm. _“What's wrong? Don't tell me you have an issue with flying.”_

 _“I have an issue with flying this slow,”_ he replied. _“I could have gotten us there in a matter of seconds if you had let me.”_

 _“I'd like to keep things legal, Cas.”_ He chuckled. _“Besides, I'm guessing you don't get little pretzels on Angel-Air.”_

 _“Are you trying to be amusing?”_ He glared at Dean for a moment and then, against his will, he felt a smile break across his face. _“I'd have stopped us in Italy so we could have some authentic pizza.”_

Dean had to cover his mouth to restrain his laughter – but it drew his daughter's attention and Liesel leaned over from her spot at the window towards Cas.

“What's so funny?” She was rather glad the plane's engines were loud enough to cover her dad's very off-key guffaws. 

“I am not certain.” Castiel shook his head and leaned over so the girl could hear him better. “I think it had something to do with having pizza in Italy.”

Liesel rolled her eyes. “Grown-ups are so weird.” She turned her attention back out the window. She had slept most of the way here, and she rubbed her eyes as she tried to wake herself up a little more. Below her, she saw almost nothing but green forest, broken occasionally by a field – but they were small in comparison to ones she saw at home. It was like looking down at a postcard, or one of those thousand piece puzzles she and her dad sometimes did together. She supposed it might be mostly mountains as well, but it was hard to tell from this height. 

Dean closed his eyes, swallowing hard. This trip was not going to be easy for him – the last time, Ignacia had been here. Liesel had fit in a carrier – and everything had been... He felt a touch not on his hand but somewhere else, some place inside of him and his thoughts instantly calmed. He shot a sideways look at Castiel, who gave only the slightest acknowledgment of what he had just done. The angel had done it a few times before – and it was something Dean liked to call a 'soul hug' for lack of a better term. He put on a brave smile and turned to look out the window with Liesel, rather surprised that despite the fact that it'd been seven years, he still recalled several of the places they flew over.

Castiel sat back in his seat, listening to the muffled conversations around him, still adjusting to this new role he found himself playing. He could hear the woman in the back of the plane murmuring prayers to St. Christopher and two rows from her a man was praying in Hebrew. He shifted his attention back to the two people sitting next to him as the intercom pinged on and the pilot spoke to the passengers in German, then in English.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we are about fifteen minutes from the gate. We ask that you discontinue use of your electronic devices at this time and set your seats and tray tables into their upright and locked positions.” He then went on about putting away any items and fastening seat-belts. 

For his part, Castiel pulled the book he had been reading out of the seat pocket and set it into the bag he had carried onto the plane. He knew Dean and Liesel hadn't gotten anything out; the pair had slept almost the entire way from Austin to Frankfurt and had been more interested in eating something on this leg of the trip than anything else. 

Dean ran a hand through his hair, a little of his nervousness returning. The grief was gone, but at the same time – this was part of his family he was going to visit and he hadn't seen them in forever. He felt a hand on his arm and he looked over at Liesel.

 _“It's okay Dad. I'm pretty nervous too.”_ She grinned. _“The last time I was here, I was a baby. At least you're going to be spared the 'my how you've grown!' speech.”_

Dean smiled and shook his head. _“Everyone said you were such a pretty baby.”_ He leaned over and kissed the top of her head. _“Just remember – your grandpa gives bear-hugs.”_

*  
Liesel kept her gaze out the window of the train as it came to a stop in the town of Cosoba. The whole place looked like the land that time forgot – and the platform was full of what had to be half the town – the majority of them with hair the same shade of brown as hers. She managed a brave smile at her dad as the two of them and Castiel gathered their bags and stepped out into the pleasantly warm afternoon. Several other people had gotten off the train and they went on their way just as two people came out of the crowd whom Liesel recognized from photographs. 

The bear of a man waved and called out across the way, a smile they could see in Spain across his face. _“Dean! Baiatul meu, bine ai revenit!”*_ He finished crossing the distance and pulled her father into a hug, let him go and then immedately grabbed Liesel in a hug that lifted her off of the ground. _“Liesel! Nepoata mea dulce, cum ai crescut!”*_

She threw her arms around her grandfather, hugging him back. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see her grandmother hugging her dad, kissing both his cheeks – and then she frowned and mussed up his hair. No sooner had her grandfather put her down then her grandmother seized her in a hug and two kisses of her own – and then the Madgearus turned their attention to the third member of the party.

“Who is your friend, Dean?” Octavia asked in heavily accented English while still hugging Liesel, as if she feared the girl would disappear if she stopped.

“This is Castiel.” Dean replied, smiling. “Cas, this is my mother-in-law, Octavia and her husband, Armand.” 

Castiel stepped forward and a moment later found himself on the receiving end of a strong hug from Octavia. _“E frumos să vă întâlnesc. Am auzit atatea lucruri despre tine de la Dean şi Liesel.”*_

The woman beamed at him and then Armand led the group into a circle of people waiting to greet them. Oddly enough, in a way, Castiel felt like he had come home.

 

 

* Dean! My boy, welcome back!  
*Liesel! My sweet granddaughter, how you have grown!  
*It is nice to meet you. I've heard so much about you from Dean and Liesel.


End file.
